


The Demon's Legacy

by Baniac



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2018-11-08 23:17:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 81,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11091972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baniac/pseuds/Baniac
Summary: Bane and Talia are confronted with a secret from Ra's al Ghul's past. Will this mean a threat to the League or something else entirely?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place after FROM THE ASHES, but it can also be read as a stand-alone.

**Chapter 1**

 

“It doesn’t matter how many times you look at yourself in the mirror,” Barsad said with a teasing grin, “you’re still ugly, Bane. Surgery or no surgery.”

Bane’s dark gaze narrowed and shifted to Barsad for only a moment. “Always the droll one, brother, even after a long mission. We’ll see how your humor and stamina hold up once your child is born.”

Barsad chuckled and peered through the dusty windshield of the Land Rover while doing his best to avoid as many holes in the desert road as possible. Bumpy roads always irritated Bane’s damaged back and made him impatient to reach their destination. He was already impatient enough to get home; Barsad didn’t want to increase his commander’s agitation by blowing a tire on this God forsaken goat path.

“Perhaps,” Bane said, “I’m looking forward to the birth of your child more than you are. Henri will have something new to distract him, and in time he will have a playmate. That will be a relief to his poor mother.”

“Your kid does enjoy running the pants off Talia. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you. She’ll be able to get some rest now. We’ve been gone a month. That’s the longest you’ve been away from them since Henri was born.”

Bane studied his scarred face in the mirror a moment longer before flipping up the sun visor. He would never get used to seeing himself without the mask which had helped him breathe and had administered an inhalable analgesic cocktail for over twenty years. The surgeon had said that the scars from the series of plastic surgeries nearly two years ago would continue to fade. Before his physical relationship with Talia had blossomed and led to the birth of their son, he had had no cares about his appearance. Before the mask was necessary, his mother and Talia’s mother, Melisande—the only two women he had known while growing up in prison—had told him how handsome he was, but he had dismissed their compliments as a mother’s pride and a friend’s kindness. After his surgeries, Talia had showered similar flattery upon him, but hers, too, he discounted as mere charity. Perhaps after the scars had faded, his own appearance would be somewhat worthy of her flawless beauty.

His decision to undergo the many procedures, however, had nothing to do with vanity. Decades of drug use to dull the pain from his prison injuries had damaged his body, and to continue down that same path had been deemed unwise and dangerous. Talia had been the one to convince him of the need to discard the mask. In the past, Bane had cared little about the deterioration of his body; he had no desire for a long life. But Talia’s declaration of love and Henri’s birth had changed his mind. Now he had much more to live for than just fulfilling his role as Demon Head of the League of Shadows.

Ridding himself of the heinous mask had other benefits, too. There were few visages in the world as well-known as that of the Masked Man, Gotham’s Reckoning, Bane the mercenary. True, he had acquired immunity for himself and Talia for their siege of Gotham, a bargain struck in return for the League taking down the world’s most wanted Islamic terrorist three years ago. But there were other operations by the League before and since Gotham that many governments considered crimes and for which Bane was hunted. Being free of the mask helped conceal him, an ironic twist of fate. Besides his brothers in the League and a trusted handful of others considered surrogate family, like Talia’s grandmother, his surgeries were known to no one outside his circle except the plastic surgeon. His silence had been purchased and ensured by threats to the lives of his family and himself.

As an infant, Henri had no aversion to the mask, but as he grew, Bane feared his son might view him as fearsome if he continued to wear it. Bane had been happy to have his enemies recoil at the sight of him; he did not, however, desire that reaction from Henri. He wanted to be able to hold his son close, to kiss him, to speak to him without the wheeze of the mask or its muffled quality.

Bane glanced at Barsad’s tired, tanned face with its heavy stubble. “How many days, brother?”

With a displeased glance that caused Bane to chuckle, Barsad grumbled, “You know how many.”

“True.”

“But you like tormenting me by asking, don’t you?”

“Of course. I’m enjoying your anxiety.” Bane grinned at his lieutenant. “I remember how you enjoyed tormenting me in the same way when the birth of my child drew near. You never thought I could be a good father. Have I not proven you wrong?”

“Maybe. At least when you’re home at the palace. But you’re away too much, at least according to Talia, Henri, and Maysam. Even Sanjana is saying it now.”

“That is because Sanjana is about to have her first child, and she now fully understands Talia’s concerns when I am in the field. Sanjana will fret over your missions more than ever now. She has already approached me about limiting your duties, if not convincing you altogether to leave the League.”

Barsad scowled, but Bane could tell his friend was not angry with Sanjana. “I told her not to talk to you about that. It’s between her and I.”

“But she hasn’t convinced you; that is certain.”

“Of course not. I love my work. What the hell would I do otherwise?”

“Be a father.” Bane cocked one arched eyebrow at Barsad. “And a husband.”

“I’m not leaving the League just so I can get married, Bane. And I don’t see you doing that, so don’t lecture me.”

“Talia would never ask. Sanjana, on the other hand—”

“Uh-uh. Nothing doing. She and I have talked about this _ad nauseam_ , as you know.”

“Your situation with Sanjana and my situation with Talia are completely different. With Sanjana, she has her culture applying pressure. A pregnant, unwed woman. I certainly don’t have to educate you on how the Hindu religion frowns upon such behavior, to say the least. She wants to be able to show her child to her family.” Bane allowed a small grin. “Though I cautioned her against it if the babe looks like its father. Wouldn’t want to horrify her poor mother.”

“Touché, brother.” Barsad swerved around a broad crater in the road. “But, remember, her mother wouldn’t want Sanjana to marry someone outside their religion and culture.”

“Well, she doesn’t want her daughter pregnant out of wedlock, but here you are. At least if you married her, you could tell your mother-in-law that Sanjana got pregnant _after_ you were married months ago.”

“I’m not leaving the League, Bane.”

“For selfish reasons, I am glad, of course. But I hope your stubbornness does not alienate the mother of your child. She will be stressed enough as it is, once the baby is born.”

“Sanjana knew what she was getting into when this all started.”

“True enough, but there was no baby in the picture two years ago, brother.”

Barsad gave a small huff of annoyance and reached into a pocket for a piece of Nicorette gum. “I’ve given up smoking for them. I’d say that’s enough sacrifice for now.”

“I, for one, am pleased about your abstinence from that vile habit. You would never refrain for my sake, so if for nothing else, I can thank Sanjana for those inroads.”

“They’re making us soft, Bane.”

Bane chuckled. “And we would have it no other way. We can’t help that we love them, and they love us. They’ve taken two battle-hardened animals and molded us into human beings. We never would have thought it possible back on that mountain in Kashmir.”

Barsad chewed vigorously on the gum, remembering how Bane had saved his life during the Kargil War. “You won’t get any argument from me on that.” The SUV violently lurched when it hit another large hole, causing Bane to steady himself.

“Now,” Bane grumbled, “if only Sanjana can improve your driving…”

#

The woman sat in a rickety wooden fold-up chair with no padding, one elbow resting on her knee, tapered chin in her hand. Bored, she scanned the dusty bazaar with her dark, almond-shaped eyes. Villagers moved leisurely along the variety of stalls, doing more gossiping and haggling than buying. No one had stopped by her stall in some time. Apparently, no child needed a cornhusk doll, no adult needed new pottery or a beautifully hand-embroidered scarf. As advertisement, she wore one of those scarves, painstakingly crafted by her mother, a shimmery thing of saffron with gold trim and embroidered flowers of blue. She had draped it almost carelessly over her brunette hair, which she had pinned up this morning, to keep it off her neck in the day’s rising summer heat.

This was her second day selling her mother’s wares. On the first day, a couple of the villagers had recognized her from the rare occasions when she had visited her mother over the years. An old man even remembered her from her days as a child, dutifully manning the booth with her mother. But the villagers had not lingered long to talk, just to ask about her mother’s convalescence. None of these people interested her. She felt no kinship or yearning for this village where she had been born thirty-four years ago. If not for her mother, she would never return. But her mother needed her now; she had no other family to care for her during her illness or tend to her booth. Over the years, she had sent her mother money every month, but her parent insisted on creating her dolls, pottery, and scarves to sell to the villagers.

“I’m not going to live off my daughter,” she always said, her tone mirroring her child’s own stubbornness. “What would you have me do? Sit in my house, decaying? I enjoy making my things and selling them.”

“You should find a man, Maji.”

Her mother bristled. “Why do I need a man? They are nothing but trouble. Didn’t your father teach you that?”

“Aren’t you lonely?”

“I wouldn’t be if my daughter visited more often.”

Sometimes she wondered if her mother had never remarried because she was still in love with the man who had fathered her, even though he had been dead nearly ten years now. How well she recalled that day when she had seen his picture on television and learned of his death, a picture that had made her gasp. That icy blue stare had reached deep inside her and stirred a memory. She had seen that face before, but how and where? It came to her a short while later—that was the same man in the picture Maji had hanging above her bed at home. Though he was many years older, age couldn’t hide the identity of the man whose picture she had stared at countless times while growing up. Her mother had no television back then, so she had called her to share the news story. Immediately her mother had gone to the house of a neighbor who had a TV. A short while later, her mother called back, and they spent hours talking about the unknown life her father had led after leaving their village.

A child’s high-pitched voice caught her attention and drew her back to the bazaar. A boy, perhaps two years old, stood chattering cheerily at the next booth while holding the hand of an older woman. His startlingly blue eyes—large and expressive—were bright with the happiness of innocence, roaming all about him as if he was interested in everything the world had to offer. He sucked absently on the fingers of his left hand, his lips full and soft, glistening with spittle. Hair the color of walnuts, wispy and wild, shifted in the small breeze like reeds upon a river. His gaze met that of the young woman, and he gave her a beguiling smile, removing his fingers from his mouth as if caught being disobedient.

“ _Jiddah_!” he chirped, tugging on his guardian’s hand. “I want to see the dolls.”

At this, his guardian—dressed in black _hijab_ and _abaya_ , with only her face and hands exposed—turned her head, and the young woman saw her fully now, recognized her. But who was this child with her, and why had he called her grandmother?

“Be patient, _ya habib alby_.”

“Please,” he drew out the word, giving the older woman an irresistible look of supplication.

“Very well,” she continued in Arabic. “You may look, but don’t touch. And stand right there where I can see you.”

The young woman noticed the boy’s guardian wasn’t the only one keeping an eye on him. There were two bodyguards near at hand—silent, watchful, expressionless men with automatic rifles—and there would be a third who couldn’t be seen. Their presence didn’t surprise the young woman, for she knew the widow of Siddig El Fadil never went anywhere without bodyguards. Though her warlord husband had been dead for many years, her brothers-in-law had inherited the family business, so she still needed protection. And apparently so did the little boy.

With a small gasp of triumph, the child hopped over to the dolls displayed at the young woman’s booth. He stared at them without reaching for them, rolling his lower lip inward as if this would help him maintain control. He clasped his hands before him in a form of restraint, fingers twitching restlessly.

“ _Salaam_ ,” the young woman said, leaning slightly forward over her mother’s wares, offering a gentle smile so her presence would not overwhelm him.

“Salaam,” he said almost shyly, taking his eyes from the dolls only a moment to acknowledge her. “Jiddah say don’t touch.”

“I could let you hold one, but we’d better wait for her to come over, yes?”

He frowned and nodded.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Henri. But Papa _Baba_ calls me Jin.” He grinned proudly.

The name surprised her for multiple reasons. It wasn’t an Arabic name, and Maysam El Fadil was an Arab. Also, the boy used the French pronunciation of Henri. But most startling of all in its coincidence was that Henri was her own father’s name.

“Where Miss Panjabi?” he asked.

“My mother is sick. I’m taking her place for now.”

His lips pursed, his brow wrinkled. “Sick?”

“Yes, but she’s getting better.”

This seemed to cheer him, freeing his expression, and the young woman liked him for caring about her mother.

“What your name?” he asked, fully looking at her now.

“ _Habibi_ ,” Maysam’s voice broke into their conversation as she stepped to his side. The young woman estimated Maysam’s age somewhere in her seventies by now. Yet even the harsh desert environment or her advancing age had failed to degrade the woman’s stately beauty.

“I not touch nothing, Jiddah.” He turned his innocent smile up at her.

“Anything,” Maysam stressed the correct word in her somewhat throaty, sultry voice.

“Anything,” Henri repeated. “I have doll now?”

“You have enough toys, habibi.”

The younger woman stood and handed him one of the dolls. “I promised him he could hold one when you came over.” Her Arabic was flawless, as were the several other languages she knew.

Maysam eyed her. “Where is Miss Panjabi?”

“She is ill. I’m her daughter.”

Maysam studied her with something close to suspicion. Was she remembering the little girl who used to sit here with her mother all those years ago?  “Please give her my well wishes for her swift recovery. I hope it is nothing serious.”

“Thank you. I’ll tell her.” The younger woman smiled at Henri, who was examining the doll. He seemed more interested in how the toy was constructed than in its potential as a plaything. Again, she wondered what the boy was to Maysam, but for the safety of her own mother, she would not inquire. “Are you sure you don’t want to purchase that for him? I’m sure we could agree upon a fair price for my mother’s skilled work.”

“We have bought them before, haven’t we, habibi?” Maysam lovingly stroked the boy’s hair back into place. “And every one of them he takes apart and strews the husks everywhere, then later tries to put it back together again, don’t you, _ya habib alby_?”

“I make better,” Henri proclaimed.

The younger woman laughed, but Maysam chided him, “Don’t insult Miss Punjabi. She makes lovely dolls. They are fine just the way they are. Now apologize to her daughter.”

Henri’s expression fell, and he looked dolefully up at the younger woman from beneath his long eyelashes. _That kid is going to break a lot of girls’ hearts when he grows up_ , she thought.

“I sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she said with a reassuring nod.

“I think,” Maysam said, reaching into her purse, “we will purchase the doll after all.”

The younger woman knew she was doing this as a form of apology. Maysam El Fadil—a paradox of lethalness and honor, more honor than her husband had had. She wondered what Maysam would say if she knew who she was really talking to. Would there be sympathy or indifference?

They agreed upon a fair price for the doll, and Henri beamed in triumph as he hugged the toy close, making the dry cornhusks crunch. His blue eyes danced, and again the young woman wondered who the boy really was to Maysam. Her only child had supposedly died many years ago, and her only grandchild had died almost three years ago. Well, she would certainly have questions for her mother when she returned home tonight. Perhaps village gossip could fill in the blanks.

She considered trying to sell a scarf or two to Maysam, as her mother would want, but she lacked her parent’s drive as a saleswoman.

As Maysam took Henri’s hand again, she said, “Please remember to give my best to your mother.”

“I will.”

Maysam started to move to the next stall but hesitated before giving the younger woman one last look, a look that seemed to have an ambiguous warning behind it. “I remember seeing you here when you were a child, but I’m afraid I cannot recall your name.”

Of course Maysam would assume the younger woman would remember _her_ name; everyone in the village knew who lived behind the walls of the neighboring palace. By omitting this part of the pleasantry yet asking for the younger woman’s name, she had subtly made it plain where each of them stood in the local hierarchy.

The younger woman gave her a knowing smile, one that she was confident Maysam would understand as a reminder that she didn’t live here in the shadow of the palace and thus lacked the same fears as her mother and the other villagers.

Then, her smile broadening, she answered, “My name is Nyssa.”


	2. Chapter 2

            The lowering sun gilded the ornate two-story entrance arch of the El Fadil compound. Sculpted elephants nearly two meters tall stood, one on either side, as if on guard. Behind them, two armed men stood to the actual task, bringing their guns to bear until they recognized Barsad and Bane. As Barsad stopped the vehicle to allow the guards to open the pair of four-meter-high steel-enforced doors, the dust raised by the SUV caught up to them and curled around the Land Rover, further coating the already-filthy vehicle.

            As always, Bane admired the architecture of this place, a marriage of Islamic and Rajput tastes. The compound’s thick earthen walls surrounded the six-story palace as well as a two-story guesthouse, several courtyards and intricate, beautiful gardens. All heavily guarded and surveilled by cameras.

            When Bane considered the nearest elephant sculpture, he smiled to himself, thinking of his son who always insisted he be allowed to sit upon the elephant’s back whenever he left the compound with his parents or Maysam. He had made his father promise to one day let him ride a real elephant. Henri often asked permission to hold his mother’s small ivory-carved elephant that was displayed on a shelf in the family suite. The talisman had been a gift to Talia from their very dear friend, Temujin, who had died many years ago in service to the League. It was Temujin’s name that they had given to Henri as a middle name. Talia only used it when she was angry with her son. Bane, however, often used the shortened version, Jin, especially when he and Henri were alone together, a special term of endearment in memoriam to the revered Mongol, who had been his mentor during his training days with the League. How he wished Temujin could have met Henri. Easily he remembered how kind, patient, and wise Temujin had been with Talia when she was a child.

            Once inside the compound, the Land Rover was met by the palace chauffeur, standing just inside the shade of the _Diwan-i-Khas_ , the palace’s private audience hall. He offered a small bow to Bane as he opened the SUV’s door.

            “How are you, Faran?” Barsad said as he stiffly extricated himself from behind the wheel.

            “I am well, _sahib_. And I am pleased you are back.”

            Barsad handed him the keys. “Not as pleased as Sanjana, I bet.” He grinned, and Faran’s dark eyes danced. The two men had known each other many years now. It was Barsad who had hired Faran, back when he had worked for Siddig and Maysam, before he had met Bane.

            “She grows larger by the day,” Faran said, leaning in a bit.

            “I’ll make sure not to repeat your remark to her,” Barsad chuckled.

            “Thank you, sahib.” Faran slipped around Barsad and into the driver’s seat.

            As the chauffeur drove the car away, Bane considered Barsad’s relationship with Faran. His lieutenant could get along easily with pretty much anyone he wanted to, a talent Bane sometimes envied. Even without his mask, Bane knew the palace servants were still intimidated by his towering, muscle-bound appearance. None of them dared speak to him the way Faran had just spoken to Barsad.

            They entered the empty audience hall, a grand space with marble floors and several chandeliers, unlit, a multitude of open archways on either side, allowing cross ventilation. From the direction of the gardens, the cry of the palace peacock reached Bane’s ears. Through a doorway at the closest end of the hall, they stepped into an open courtyard with facades three-stories high, then farther through an open archway into the palace courtyard. The palace loomed above them, its pastel yellow masonry boasting many windows and verandas, trimmed in white and maroon. The centuries-old palace had been the El Fadil home for many generations, purchased and expanded through the blood and treasure of others.

            “Talia will be pissed we didn’t tell her when we’d arrive,” Barsad said as they climbed the stone steps. “She would’ve met us with Henri.”

            “The day is too hot for them to be outside.”

            “All the same, she’ll be pissed.”

            “Perhaps I will have a way to distract her.” Bane shot Barsad a sly grin.

            “Oh, brother.” Barsad rolled his eyes before nodding to the guards at the main doors as they passed inside.

            Arabic voices rolled to them from far down the hallway to the right of the main staircase. Bane recognized the staccato voice of Nashir El Fadil, upbraiding one of his men, or so it seemed. Though not as savage as his eldest brother Siddig or as unpredictably violent as Amir—the brother, now dead, who had succeeded Siddig—Nashir was a no-nonsense man who demanded much of anyone in his employ. Bane cared little about the man beyond Nashir’s treatment of Maysam, and thus far that had been acceptable.

            At the top of the red-carpeted staircase, another familiar voice caught Bane’s ears, this one far more welcomed than Nashir’s.

            “Look who’s back, and without telling us they were coming.”

            Bane grinned at his old friend from prison, a man who was now head of Maysam’s personal security. “I know how much you love surprises, Abrams.”

            “Yeah, almost as much as you do.” A sly smile twisted Abrams’s harelip.

            Abrams, in his early sixties, was a strong, blocky figure. His square head with thinning brown hair had lines etched in forehead and cheeks, telling the tale of a former soldier and mercenary prior to his security work in German intelligence after prison. Bane had been a mere boy when they had met in the pit, a friendship that had taken years to build, but one that had benefited Bane as well as Talia and had ultimately saved Abrams’s life. Barsad called Abrams Bane’s surrogate uncle, and so Henri had taken to calling him Uncle Abrams, adding to the child’s list of pseudo-uncles which included Barsad.

            “I see you’ve managed to keep him alive again, Barsad,” Abrams said with a rare twinkle in his unremarkable brown eyes.

            “Never an easy task,” Barsad said, “but somehow I manage.”

            “Do you know where Talia is?” Bane asked.

            “She’s in your suite with Maysam and Henri. And Sanjana’s in your room, Barsad.”

            “I hope you will join us for supper,” Bane said.

            “Figures you’d be back in time for that.” Abrams winked at Barsad before heading downstairs. “I’ll make sure the cook knows to plan for three more.”

            Bane and Barsad rode the nearby elevator to the fifth floor. While members of the El Fadil family inhabited most of the palace, the fifth floor belonged to Maysam. Her brother’s family used to share the space, but once Bane, Talia, and Barsad made the palace their permanent home away from the League, Ayman and his family had moved to another floor, though not without protests from Ayman, who resented his sister’s close relationship with the “infidel intruders,” as he called them.

            As Bane and Barsad strode down the long, carpeted hallway with their dusty packs, the fatigue that had slowed them earlier in the day melted away at the prospect of seeing their loved ones.

            “It is good to be home, brother,” Bane said.

            “You got that right.”

            “Just a few short years ago, we never could have imagined having a true home.”

            “No shit.” Barsad had spat out his Nicorette gum before reaching the palace gate, and he now found himself wanting another. But with the prospect of kissing Sanjana just ahead, he knew his mind would soon be distracted from his tobacco craving. “Tell Maysam and Talia I’ll see ’em at supper, okay?”

            “Maysam will be wounded by your willful negligence,” Bane teased.

            Barsad refused to take the bait. “She’ll get over it.”

            Bane chuckled. “Indeed. She is used to your disappointments. But go ahead, John, the mother of your child awaits.”

            With a devilish grin, Barsad hurried ahead of Bane.

            Bane’s own eagerness quickened his steps, but he paused at the closed door to his suite. His acute hearing—so much improved without the mask covering his ears—picked up the high-pitched voice of his son, followed by the boy’s bubbling laughter. A slightly scolding tone from Talia, and Maysam’s murmuring words. Bane’s heart warmed at the sounds, and he completely relaxed for the first time in weeks, his harsh soldier’s gaze softening.

            Ever so quietly he opened the door just far enough to see them. The immense main room of the suite was comprised of three different living spaces—the bedroom with its spacious king bed against the wall to Bane’s left where he could not see it from his current vantage point; an office area with a beautiful antique desk of mahogany taking up the far-right corner; and, closest to the door, the living area with comfortable chairs, sofas, pillows, cushions and rugs, along with a sixty-inch flat panel television, which was currently turned off. Maysam sat on a loveseat, Henri in her lap, dressed for bed, listening to her read a book. As always, he was active in the story, pointing at the pictures and identifying animals, helping turn the pages. When great-grandmother and great-grandson were alone together, Maysam spoke Arabic, while Talia spoke French to Henri when alone together. Bane spoke English to Henri, and thus the boy already knew three languages and would learn more.

            Talia sat nearby in a chair, a cup of tea in hand. Bane admired her soft profile, partially hidden by her sable mane of hair. She never seemed to age, her skin as soft and smooth now in her early thirties as it had been as a child in the pit prison. Yet her eyes—sapphire and large, so large he often lost himself in them—betrayed fatigue in the way her eyelids drooped so early in the evening. He frowned. Then somehow Henri detected him

            “Papa Baba!” the boy shrieked in delight and catapulted himself from Maysam’s lap.

            Bane stepped inside the suite, grinning at his son’s practice of using both the Arabic word for father as well as the more French or English variation. Dropping his pack, he crouched down with arms spread like a great condor, and Henri flew into his embrace, squealing with delight.

            “You home! You home!”

            Bane held his son’s squirming form tight for a long moment, enjoying Henri’s giggles and kisses. Talia and Maysam had gotten to their feet, both smiling.

            “We didn’t expect you until tomorrow,” Talia said, gliding across the room, dressed in ivory-colored silk lounging pants with a generous style to the legs and matching blouse.

            “What a wonderful surprise,” Maysam said. “And just before Henri’s bedtime.”

            Bane stood, loosening his grip on Henri who immediately protested, “No bed, Papa Baba! No bed! We play.”

            Bane chuckled and shifted Henri onto his hip. “Playtime is past, my young cub. Jiddah was reading you a bedtime story, I see.”

            “You read it, Papa Baba.”

            “I am just back and already you are ordering me about.”

            “Please,” Henri drew out the word.

            Talia touched Bane’s arm, and he leaned down to kiss her, her wonderful clean scent enveloping him with a hint of lavender. Now, so close, he could see more than fatigue in her eyes, but he failed to identify it. Something she was trying to tell him without words, not unusual in their years together; they could normally read each other so very well. Something obviously private, perhaps sorrowful. He looked forward to being alone with her.

            “Is something wrong, my love?” he asked near a whisper in case the issue had to do with Maysam, though that possibility was remote.

            Talia gave him a troubled smile, stroked Henri’s rebellious cowlick. “Later,” she softly said.

            Somehow around Henri’s busy hands patting and squishing his scarred cheeks Bane managed to kiss Talia again. “Very well,” Bane said. “Until later.”

            He put his other arm around Talia and guided her to the large sofa where the three of them sat. Maysam returned to the loveseat. Henri cuddled in Bane’s lap, oblivious to his father’s dirty, unkempt appearance. When Bane was home for any length of time, Henri rarely sat still long enough to be this close, but whenever Bane returned from League-related travel, Henri would cling to him every chance he got for the first couple of days. It pained Bane to know he was the cause of his child’s insecurity. Departing was even more traumatic. Henri’s mix of tears, anger, and pleas filled Bane with guilt not only for upsetting his son but because he knew Henri would take out his unhappiness on Talia, never a wise decision.

            Henri looked up at him now with his adoring blue eyes and asked, “Papa Baba stay now?”

            “Yes, for a while at least.”

            Henri scowled, and his hands balled into fists. “You stay forever.”

            “We have discussed this before, my son,” Bane said sternly. “I have a job to do. I will stay as long as my job allows.”

            Henri writhed in the beginning of a tantrum, something else he rarely did when Bane was home. “Papa—”

            “Henri Temujin,” Talia snapped. “Your father has just come home from a dangerous mission. You should be grateful that he’s here, not complaining about when he will next leave.”

            “Mama,” Henri whined, arching his spine backward in a rigid form of protest.

            “Your father is tired, child,” Maysam soothed. “And so are you. That is why you are fussing. It is time for bed.”

            “No, Jiddah,” Henri said plaintively, instantly abandoning his physical display of protest and instead clutching Bane’s black t-shirt. “Wanna stay with Papa Baba.”

            “Then you must behave,” Maysam warned in a falsely stern voice. She loved the boy with every fiber of her being and found disciplining him difficult, yet Bane knew Maysam always did her best to keep Henri in line, as gently as possible. And most of the time Henri listened to her, as he did now, settling deep into Bane’s lap, one hand again gripping his father’s shirt.

            “I be good, Jiddah.”

            “Thank you.” Her harsh expression instantly melted into a warm smile.

            Bane chuckled and gave his son a squeeze. “You are spending too much time with women, my little cub. You need to experience the low ways of men, and then you will appreciate the women in your life. When I was your age, I was surrounded by nothing but men, except for my mother. So many years. If not for her influence, I would have become just as despicable and worthless as those men. My mother and your mother’s mother were the light in that terrible place; they were _my_ light. And now your mother and Jiddah are yours. You must show them respect by behaving like a civilized child, not some wild bear cub. Have I not told you that you are the man of the house when I and Uncle John are away?”

            Henri frowned in shame and stared at his restless hands in his lap. “Yes, Papa Baba.”

            “Then you must behave like it. How can you protect them when you are throwing temper tantrums?”

            “I sorry.”

            “Very well.” Bane winked at Maysam and kissed the top of Henri’s head. “Now, if you are quiet and respectful, you may sit here a bit longer with us before I put you to bed. Perhaps Jiddah will ask Hisham to bring you some warm goat’s milk if you ask her nicely.”

            “Please, Jiddah, may I have some milk?”

            “Of course, _ya habib alby_.”

            Henri looked up at her through long eyelashes and sweetly asked, “With honey?”

            Maysam laughed, and Bane chuckled. “Very well,” she said. “But just a touch.” She crossed the room to call from the internal phone line.

            Bane tipped Henri’s chin up. “Have you been giving your mother trouble? She looks very tired.”

            Henri diverted his gaze.

            “Jin,” Bane said firmly.

            “It’s all right, habibi,” Talia murmured to Bane, stroking the bulge of his bicep. “We’ve both had a long day. We’ll talk about our son’s behavior later.”

            Henri gave a little gasp but offered no defense. “Papa Baba?”

            “Yes, my son?”

            “Did you bring me a present?” Henri’s pronunciation of the letter “r” was still sounding like the letter “w,” but Maysam had assured Bane that his speech would improve.

            Bane or Barsad always brought something back for the child from their operations abroad. Nothing elaborate, just various trinkets or things like a beautiful feather shed by a bird; anything pleased Henri if it came from his father or Uncle John.

            “Perhaps I did,” Bane said with hooded eyes, producing a worried look from his son. “But if so, I must first learn from your mother later whether or not you deserve a gift.”

            “Oh, Papa Baba, please,” Henri said.

            “You heard me, young man. Now don’t pester me about it any further.”

            “Ohhhh.” Henri buried his face between Bane’s pronounced pectoral muscles.

            Maysam returned to the loveseat. “I told Hisham to bring you some tea, Haris.” She used the Arabic name she had given Bane the first time she had met him, a name which meant protector. She had never liked anyone calling him Bane because of its negative connotations.        “Dinner will be served in half an hour.”

            “I invited Abrams to join us,” Bane said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

            He exchanged a private grin with Talia.

            “Did he accept your invitation?” Maysam asked.

            “He did.”

            Maysam crossed her arms. “He never accepted any of ours while you were gone, did he, Talia?”

            “Jiddah,” Talia chided. “You know he doesn’t feel comfortable sharing meals with us when Bane and Barsad are both gone.”

            “He’s old-fashioned and foolish,” Maysam grumbled.

            “He respects your religious beliefs,” Talia insisted. “He came to dinner when Ayman joined us last week, didn’t he? So it’s not true that he never accepted an invitation.”

            Maysam looked away, arms still stubbornly crossed.

            Knowing better than to explore this subject too deeply with Maysam, Bane changed the subject. “That milk will soon be here, my cub. Hisham can bring it to your room and you may drink it while I read to you.”

            Talia momentarily took Henri so Bane had an easier time standing up.

            “Pony ride, Papa Baba.” Henri raised his arms.

            “Your father’s back is hurting him,” Talia said. “I can see it on his face.”

            “It is all right, my dear. He weighs no more than a fly.” Bane crouched down, and after a slight sigh from Talia, she put Henri on Bane’s back. The boy wrapped his arms around his father’s neck, giggling.

            “Giddy up!”

            “This old warhorse can’t gallop today.” Bane stood. “You will have to be content with a lumbering walk. Now if you ladies will excuse us…”

            Bane headed down the suite’s hallway, which led to a spacious bathroom, a dining room, the nursery, and at the far end a spa that encompassed an entire large room, reminiscent of a Roman bath. Henri’s room had once been Bane’s office, and Siddig’s office before him, but the furnishings had been moved to the suite’s main room when Talia became pregnant. Maysam was responsible for the nursery’s décor, with Talia’s help as well. It was a happy environment with a ceiling painted the color of a perfect sky with cheerful white clouds. The walls were each a different theme—one, sunrise yellow with rolling emerald hills; another, forest green with white birch trees; another, a dark gray with a fat moon and stars; the fourth, blue with a seashore motif. The crib had been superceded by a small bed, finely crafted by the same local artisan who had created the wooden rocking chair in the corner, as well as the bookshelf. A toy chest against one wall sat open, stuffed animals and plastic trucks and fighter planes haphazardly collected within. A cornhusk doll sat next to the box, not yet dismantled by Henri as was usual. Bane wished the room had a window. During the day, the door was left open, as was the dining room door across the hall; this way sunlight through the dining room veranda doors could provide natural light to the nursery.

            “Let us use the chair,” Bane said, knowing the rocker would support his back, while sitting on Henri’s bed would not. “What story would you like to hear, my cub?” He crouched again so the boy could dismount, but instead Henri hung from Bane’s neck, giggling. “You are strangling me, boy.”

            But Henri’s hold tightened, and his giggling increased. Bane reached behind him and began tickling the boy. Henri squirmed and laughed uncontrollably, his father persisting until the boy’s stranglehold loosened, and Bane pried him away.

            “Enough foolishness,” Bane scolded. “You will never sleep if you wind yourself up this way. Your mother will be displeased. Now, either choose a book or I will simply put you to bed without your story or milk.”

            With pouting lips, Henri said, “Oh, Papa…” But he surrendered and shambled over to the bookshelf where he pondered the wide selection while Bane settled into the rocking chair.

            Henri clambered into his father’s lap, handing him a storybook about a shepherd boy and a lost lamb. The child nestled deep in Bane’s lap, and Bane put his arms around him and began to read. A moment later Hisham—Bane and Talia’s Indian manservant—peeked his face around the half-closed door. Bane invited the older man in, and Henri took the teacup filled with warm milk from Hisham’s silver tray. Hisham smiled and nodded after Henri thanked him, then left the room.

            By the time the milk was gone and the story was over, Henri’s eyelids kept trying to shut upon him, though he fought gamely to remain awake. Bane set the book and the empty cup on a small table beside him, then carried his son to the bed.

            “No, don’t wanna sleep.”

            “Yes, you do; you just won’t admit it.”

            The bed had already been turned down. Bane tucked Henri in, drawing the sheet over the boy’s chest before sitting on the edge of the mattress. Henri reached for his hand.

            “Don’t go, Papa Baba.”

            “I will stay a moment, but you must relax and close your eyes. I have to take a shower before supper or the smell of me will ruin everyone’s appetite.”

            Henri gave a tired giggle.

            “Quiet now, boy.”

            Henri settled into the pillow, still holding Bane’s fingers. Sleepily he said, “I so glad you home.”

            “I’m glad I’m home, too, my little cub.” Bane kissed Henri’s forehead. “Now close your eyes. We will see one another in the morning.”

            Henri whispered, “I sleep with you and Mama?”

            “Not tonight. But if you go to sleep now and behave tomorrow, perhaps you may share our bed tomorrow.”

            Henri smiled and whispered, “I be good.”

            “Very well.” Bane stood. “Good night.”

            “Good night. I love you.”

            “I love you, too, my boy.”

            Bane slipped to the door and turned off the ceiling light. He remained just on the other side of the door, which he left cracked open, and gazed upon his son in the weak glow of a nightlight plugged into the wall. Henri shifted about for only a moment before becoming still, his breathing even as he slipped into the peaceful slumber of the innocent.


	3. Chapter 3

            When Barsad entered his capacious room, only the gentle hum of central air conditioning and the low volume of the television disturbed the quiet. Across the room, the blinds of the broad glass veranda doors had been drawn against the sun, but enough light made its way into the space to reveal Sanjana sleeping on the sofa to his right where a suite of furniture formed a companionable square. The illumination from the fifty-inch TV mounted on the interior wall shined against the silken ebony of Sanjana’s hair, which was splayed about her neck, shoulders, and full breasts like a widow’s veil.

            Barsad smiled and set aside his pack before slipping across the room toward her. With a stirring in his loins, he glanced at the nearby bed, then silently sat on the coffee table in front of Sanjana. She wore a simple, pale blue chiffon sari, the fabric draping her expansive baby bump. Watching her sleep was as satisfying as drinking a tall glass of ice water after a long run or a strenuous work-out in the palace gym. It replenished him and erased the aches and fatigue from the mission. Having Sanjana here when he returned from the field always gratified him in a surprisingly powerful way, especially when he remembered his decades of bachelorhood, when coming back to base meant little more than restlessness for the next mission. Now he looked forward to the days he could spend with her, especially once the baby was born.

            Sanjana’s cocoa complexion had the flawlessness of youth—she was nearly twenty years younger than Barsad. Her full lips were slightly parted, beckoning a kiss. Long eyelashes lay like feathers against the skin above her high cheekbones, cheekbones that gained prominence whenever she smiled, which was often. Yet, that smile had not always come so readily.

            Nearly three years ago, shortly before Barsad had met her, she had been raped by her fiancé’s brother. After the attack, her marriage had been called off, and her father had rejected her out of deep shame, partially blaming her for the rape. Her ex-fiancé’s father was Hisham’s brother. Feeling sorry for Sanjana, he had petitioned Hisham to ask Maysam to hire Sanjana as her maidservant, which she did. Sanjana’s beauty and demure personality had instantly caught Barsad’s eye, and he had set about earning her trust and friendship, a long, slow process, but one that was well worth the effort. Being a sniper had taught him to be the most patient of men.

            But, just as Barsad had begun to make inroads with the girl, all nearly collapsed one terrible night when Bane and he were gone on a mission. Amir El Fadil forced himself on Sanjana, claiming what he felt was a master’s right and a way to goad Barsad. But he paid for his crime with his life, thanks to Barsad’s skill as a sniper. Though Sanjana suspected and was grateful for Barsad’s part in avenging her shame, more than a year passed before she could gather the courage to sleep with him, no matter how great her love and desire by then. Even after that, Sanjana struggled with her trauma. It was Barsad’s patience and kindness that eventually helped her trust again, and deepened her love for him as well.

            Now Barsad’s lips twisted in an ironic smile as he watched her sleep, thinking of how Bane often teased him about his choice in women.

            “I thought you would end up with someone like Selina Kyle, brother. Someone outside the law, not a sweet, feminine child such as Sanjana.”

            Barsad had to agree with Bane, though he sure as hell never shared his view with Sanjana. Even all this time later, she still looked at him with a certain innocence, as if she didn’t completely understand that he was a trained assassin. And he found that he liked that. Although he never pretended to be anything other than what he was, he also didn’t share much with her about his work. If she asked, he gave only vague details and reminded her of his oath of secrecy to the League. She never pressed but neither did she hide her curiosity. Last year she had even asked him to teach her how to shoot, which he had happily done. And though she had no natural talent for it, she had a genuine desire to learn and improve. Sharing his life’s passion in this way drew him even closer to her, in the same way Sanjana’s belief that he had been the one who had assassinated Amir had bonded them, a fact that he had never confirmed, for her safety as well as his own.

            He reached to brush back a tendril of her hair that had slipped across her face. She made a small sound and stirred. Her nostrils twitched then flared, and she breathed deeply as her eyes lazily opened enough to see him. Sanjana smiled dreamily. Barsad smiled back.

            “Are you real?” she murmured. “Or just a dream?”

            “I’m afraid I’m real, darlin’. In no good dream does a man smell this bad. But that’s not going to stop me from kissing you.”

            “I hope not.”

            Sanjana remained with her head on the pillow while their lips met. She always tasted so damn good—sweet and fresh, lips as soft as a down pillow. His hand drifted to her swollen belly.

            “How are you and the baby feeling?”

            “Tired, all the time. And hungry.”

            Barsad helped her sit up, then settled next to her, taking her hand in both of his. “Well, it’s almost suppertime, and I promise not to keep you up late tonight. In fact, I’ll probably be asleep before you.”

            “Aren’t we a pair?” She kissed him again. “I’m so glad you’re home. I’m always afraid the baby will come when you aren’t here.”

            He put his arm around her. “No need to worry about that anymore. Bane’s assured me I won’t be going anywhere now until after the birth.”

            “And hopefully not soon afterwards.”

            “I hope not.”

            “Bane stayed here a long time after Henri was born,” she said hopefully.

            “Yes, but he’s Bane. I’m not as privileged.” Barsad winked and added with mock importance, “I serve at the pleasure of the Demon’s Head.”

            Sanjana scoffed. “You are more than an employee to Bane; you are his brother. For that, I will always be grateful to him. He respects you more than anyone in the world.”

            Barsad laughed. “You don’t see us away from here, darlin’. Don’t let the bear fool you with his gentlemanly ways around you women. He’s a harsh taskmaster, even with me.”

            “Well,” she said with an impish smile and side glance, “you _can_ be trouble, John Barsad.”

            “Someone has to challenge him. Keeps him on his toes.”

            Sanjana rested her head against his shoulder and sighed. He kissed her smooth hair, buried his nose in its coconut scent.

            “I should take a shower before we eat. Don’t wanna show up at Maysam’s table looking like a beggar and smelling worse.”

            Sanjana lifted her head. “Oh, John. Can’t we eat here? Just the two of us?” She gestured to the small dining area near the veranda doors.

            He kissed her cheek. “I’d love to, but we’re expected. You know we always eat with the others when we first get back. That’s how Maysam likes it. Abrams is even coming.”

            Sanjana couldn’t hide her small frown over the invitation.

            “Sanji,” Barsad said, “you’ve gotta get over this thing with Maysam.”

            “I can’t help it, John. I was her servant for three years.”

            “Yeah, but not the past three months.”

            “But after the baby is born, I will go back to being her servant.”

            “That’s your choice, not Maysam’s mandate, remember. You don’t have to do that.”

            “But it wouldn’t feel right for me just to… _be_ here, doing nothing, like some privileged woman of fine breeding, while you are in the field. I’m a child of the Jaipur slums. When I came here, I couldn’t read or write or even speak anything but Hindi. For me to pretend—”

            “You aren’t pretending. You’re the mother of my child. Don’t forget, it was Maysam who brought us together.”

            Barsad instantly regretted saying this when he saw Sanjana’s hurt look. This was not the time to have this discussion, not with her hormones raging and his need to clean up before their meal.

            “Yes, she brought us together that first night so I could be your whore. That is probably how she still sees me. And why wouldn’t she when we’re not married?”

            “You weren’t my whore then, and you aren’t now. You’re being unfair to Maysam. She doesn’t look at you that way.”

            “I know it’s hard for you to understand, John. You grew up in a totally different world.”

            “I understand the caste system better than you think, Sanji.”

            “Understanding it and living it are two very different things.”

            Barsad took her face in his hands, drew her even closer. She was more wounded than angry, and he hated seeing her this way. It was always the same with this damned topic. He offered a placating smile and kissed her pouting lips.

            “Let’s discuss this after supper. I need to shower, and we need to get dressed so we’re not late.” He saw the shadow of further battle in her eyes, so he gave her a boyish grin. “Please, _mere bachche kee maan_.”

            “Can’t you just tell them I don’t feel well?”

            “I could, if you want me to be a liar.”

            She sighed in frustration.

            He kissed her hands then stood. “I have to shower. I smell like guns and sweat.”

#

            Abrams had never been a huge fan of Indian food, but he had to admit tonight’s Tandoori chicken was damn near flawless, served with rice and grilled vegetables, accompanied by a cucumber salad. He had always been more of a red meat and potatoes kind of guy, but Maysam’s chef had outdone himself this time.

            “It would appear you’re enjoying the chicken, Aaron,” Maysam said from the head of the rectangular table. She was the only person who ever called him by his first name, a practice he found both discomfiting and pleasurable.

            He paused with a drumstick halfway to his spice-besmeared mouth and saw that Maysam, Bane, Talia, and Barsad were looking at him with amusement. Only Sanjana, across the table, next to Barsad, kept her eyes on her own plate, silent as usual while at Maysam’s table. The heat of a slight flush warmed Abrams’s cheeks.

            “Er…yes. It’s excellent.”

            “See what you would have missed out on if you hadn’t come?” Maysam said with a sly look that bordered on sultry. Or was it his active imagination conjuring what he wanted to see?

            “Now, Jiddah,” Talia said, “you know he embarrasses easily. Don’t scare him away.”

            “Pay the women no mind, Abrams,” Bane said. “They enjoy trying to make us uncomfortable. We must stand firm.”

            Abrams produced a weak smile of appreciation for Bane’s defense, then bit into the piece of chicken, happy to have an excuse to be unresponsive. Next to him, Bane chuckled and went back to his own meal. From the other side of Bane, Talia gave Abrams a wink before leaving him alone to stew in his own awkwardness. Barsad came to his rescue by engaging Maysam in palace gossip. For a mere instant, Sanjana lifted her empathetic gaze to Abrams and offered a tiny smile of fellowship. He tried to smile back but failed miserably.

            Abrams had never felt comfortable around beautiful women, and here he sat at a table with three of the most beautiful he had ever seen. At least with Sanjana, he sensed that slight kinship, that understanding of the outsider. Even if Barsad hadn’t told him about Sanjana’s uneasiness regarding her relationship with Maysam, he would have figured it out. Like him, she was an employee sitting at the boss’s table. Yet with Abrams it was something even more that made him ill at ease…

            He was in love with Maysam.

            Easily he remembered the first time he had seen her; it had been in this very room. Bane had brought him to the palace to recover from a gunshot wound suffered while helping Bane apprehend a notorious terrorist, a dangerous operation in which Abrams had been a triple agent. The success of that mission—in conjunction with the CIA—had gained immunity for Bane and Talia for the Gotham takeover, so Maysam had been especially grateful to Abrams when they met that first day at lunch. He had expected to see a woman who looked her age—early seventies at the time—so when Bane introduced her, Abrams found himself struck speechless by her timeless beauty. Few lines marred her forehead and lean cheeks, and a spark of cunning enlivened her prominent dark eyes. She carried herself like a queen, back straight, chin high, tall, stately and slim. When she spoke, the sexy throatiness of her voice also took him aback for someone her age. Not that she was so much older than he in his mid-sixties, but still…

            After Abrams’s recovery, it had been Bane’s idea that he remained as part of Maysam’s personal security force. Talia and Bane had feared that if Abrams returned to his job with German intelligence, the radical Islamic terrorist organization he had betrayed would hunt him down and kill him. Though the initial idea had not overly appealed to Abrams for a variety of reasons, once he met Maysam, he couldn’t say no. After a year and a half, she had promoted him to head of security. The new position made it necessary for him to spend more one-on-one time with her to discuss issues of her safety.

            Abrams, with no family except a father who worked too many hours and an abusive uncle, had left home straight out of high school in Maryland, enlisting in the army and surviving two tours of duty in Vietnam. Like many, he returned to the States and found civilian life an impossible adjustment. He dabbled with various jobs but had little success in holding one for very long. He drank too much and abused drugs. When he reached rock bottom and ended up in rehab, he managed to crawl out of that dark hole and realize that without a purpose he would never survive. So he returned to what he knew—soldiering. But this time he carried a gun as a private soldier, a mercenary. And he was good at it…until it landed him in the pit prison.

            During the checkered years of his unhappy life, there had been a few women, but nothing lasting more than a couple of months. After that, there had been only the occasional prostitute. Otherwise, he had given up on relationships. Maybe that was why he could endure being in a cell next to Bane’s mother—and, later, Melisande—better than other men could.

            But, since coming to the palace, things were different. He experienced emotions that he had thought never to feel again. He had not been searching for them either; they had simply found him. And no matter how much he rejected those feelings, those stirrings, he couldn’t escape them. Surprisingly, he didn’t want to. Yet, he wasn’t sure what to do with them either.

            “I saw another cornhusk doll in Henri’s room,” Bane was saying, drawing Abrams back to the table. “Did you take my son to the bazaar today, Maysam?”

            “Yes. I hadn’t planned to, but when he found out I was going, there was no denying him.”

            “You went with them, of course, Abrams?”

            “Of course. And I’m glad I did.”

            Bane turned, instantly keen. “Did something happen?”

            “No, but…” Abrams shrugged one shoulder. “Call it a hunch.”

            “Call it nonsense,” Maysam said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Aaron thinks Diya Panjabi’s daughter is a spy.”

            “I never said that,” Abrams countered calmly.

            “A potential threat, then.” Maysam’s attention returned to her plate as Hisham poured her more coffee. “It’s still nonsense.”

            “What did you see?” Bane asked.

            Abrams shrugged again. “Maybe nothing. But Diya’s daughter—Nyssa is her name—rarely comes to the village to see her mother, according to Maysam.”

            “Her mother is ill,” Maysam said. “She is here to take care of her and mind Diya’s stall in the bazaar. Nothing more.”

            “Maybe that’s all there is to it,” Abrams conceded. “But she had a look about her. It’s the look of a soldier.”

            “A soldier?” Maysam echoed.

            “Yes. And after we returned from the bazaar, I did some checking. Nyssa was married to a rather notorious and skilled mercenary. She met him in the trade.”

            “You mean,” Barsad said, “she was a mercenary herself?”

            “Still is, according to my sources.”

            Now Maysam ignored her food, interest wiping away her previous dismissiveness. “But that still doesn’t mean she is here for any other reason than to care for her mother.”

            “Sure, probably,” Abrams said. “But I think she bears watching all the same.”

            “Of course,” Bane rumbled. “Make sure someone is surveilling her at all times while she is here.”

            “I already have Davos on it.”

            “Make sure the woman knows Davos is watching her,” Bane said. “It may deter her and cause her mother to caution her.”

            With a brow furrowed by concern, Talia asked, “Did she speak with Henri? They bought that doll from her.”

            “Yes,” Maysam said. “She was very kind to him. He liked her.”

            “Perhaps,” Bane said, “until the woman is gone from here, Henri should not go to the village. Abrams, ensure Diya Panjabi has the medical care required for a swift recovery, so her daughter’s services will no longer be required. Use discretion in accomplishing this, of course. We don’t want to be overt in our intervention.”

            “I’ll see to it.”

            “We will plan on having her shadowed once she leaves here, until we are satisfied she poses no threat.”

            Abrams caught Maysam’s frown, and she avoided his gaze for the rest of dinner. Afterwards, everyone went to the adjoining veranda for dessert and coffee. As soon as he finished dessert, Abrams begged leave. He was surprised when Maysam left the others to escort him through the dining room.

            “I want to apologize,” she said.

            “Apologize? For what?”

            “For trivializing your concern about Diya’s daughter, especially in front of the others.”

            “You don’t need to apologize. Things have been quiet for a while. It’s natural to let your guard down a bit.”

            “Well, I should know better. But, yes, things have been peaceful. Having my granddaughter and great-grandson here with me all the time has perhaps made me a little soft.”

            “Nothing wrong with that. That’s why you have me and the others; let us worry about your safety while you enjoy your life.”

            They paused when they reached the door. Maysam rested her hand on the doorknob but didn’t open the door. She studied him with her intelligent eyes, and he wondered what truly lay behind them.

            “Perhaps,” she said at last, “you should enjoy _your_ life as well, Aaron. When you’re here, socializing with my family, you should understand that you are a part of that family, not my employee.”

            Her words flustered Abrams. She was the only person who had such an effect on him, and he hated himself for his helplessness in such a moment.

            “I appreciate that, Maysam, but I don’t think I’ve earned that inclusion. We haven’t known each other very long.”

            She laughed. “It’s been almost three years, Aaron.”

            “What I mean is, we haven’t known each other as long as you’ve known the others. Hell, you’ve even known Sanjana longer than you’ve known me.”

            Maysam’s gaze never wavered, making him squirm internally even more. He wished she would open the door and let him escape to the solitude of his room, yet he also enjoyed her closeness. It made him slightly lightheaded, like drinking too much whiskey, hard and fast. She was intoxicating, classy. Too damned classy for him.

            “Perhaps,” Maysam said, “we would know one another better if you accepted more of my invitations to share my table.”

            “Your brother thinks it’s inappropriate, and so does Nashir.”

            Maysam waved away his words and tsked. “What do I care what they think? And you shouldn’t care either.” She smiled to dismiss his concerns. “Now, promise me that the next time I invite you,” she pointed in warning, “even when Bane and Barsad are not here, you will accept. I’m beginning to think you don’t like my company, Aaron.”

            _Nothing could be farther from the truth_ , he almost said but bit back his enthusiasm.

            When he hesitated, Maysam leaned closer, as if trying to hear. She wore an impish smirk that reminded him of Talia, or was it Melisande? No, in the pit prison there had been little occasion for such lighthearted emotion from Talia’s mother. Either way, Maysam had succeeded in banishing the years from her attractive face, and he could believe she was younger than he.

            “Er, um…”

            “Must I issue a direct order?” Maysam persisted. “Perhaps Bane could convince you. He does have his ways of…persuading people. However, I understand pain is often involved.”

            Abrams couldn’t help but grin at her game, though he hated smiling too much around her because he felt it accentuated his cursed hair-lip.

            “I’ll think about it,” he said. “No need to poke the bear, as Barsad would say.”

            She removed her hand from the doorknob at last and took a step back. “Yes, Barsad would know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t he?” Her smile remained, making Abrams’s temperature rise, among other things.

            “Well,” he stammered, “thanks for dinner.”

            She allowed him to leave without securing his promise, but he could tell by the pointed lift of her eyebrows that she wasn’t going to let him off the hook.


	4. Chapter 4

            Diya Panjabi’s home was cramped and dark, located on the second floor of a tiny three-story dwelling made of mud bricks, typical for the village. Nyssa reached the door via a pale blue, steep exterior staircase with no railing and with small steps that would prove a challenge for her mother once she grew elderly. Nyssa often tried to convince her mother to move to a ground-floor dwelling, offering to buy one for her, but her stubborn parent always refused.

            “This has been my home since I was born,” she always said. “This is where you were born, daughter. I am comfortable here.”

            The home itself had only two windows and received sparse light due to the proximity of the neighboring buildings. While the structures protected it from the broiling Rajasthan sun, they also stole any breeze. Two rooms made up the interior—a modest bedroom and a larger room that served as both kitchen, dining room and living space. A pair of fans whirred away in the latter room, and the television Nyssa had bought her mother a few years ago had some Indian cooking show on. The scent of dum aloo and galaouti kebabs made Nyssa’s mouth water and reminded of her childhood. She was shocked to see her mother now at the stove.

            “Maji!” she scolded, setting down the bundle of unsold goods brought home from the bazaar. “Why are you out of bed? I’ll do the cooking. Haven’t we already discussed this?”

            Diya was twenty years older than Nyssa, but the hard years of her life, the heartbreak over the desertion of Nyssa’s father and his later death, had taken its toll by adding ten years to the leathery skin of her round face and to her dark eyes as well. But her smile at the sight of her daughter took away some of that wear.

            “I am feeling much better, _betee_.” With a bamboo spoon, she shooed away Nyssa’s solicitous hands.

            “I don’t care if you are. Sit down at the table and let me finish this.”

            Her mother chuckled. “My daughter is no cook.”

            “True enough, but it looks like everything’s almost done anyway. You’ve always had good timing, Maji. When I was little, you would be just setting the food on the table when I’d come home from playing with my friends.”

            “It was you who had the timing, betee. Your nose was keen and you had the appetite of a boy.” She glanced toward the unsold merchandise. “It looks like you did well today.”

            “Well, everyone is eager to help you, so they buy,” Nyssa shrugged, “whether they really need anything or have the money.”

            Her mother turned back to the stove. “I remember they were not so eager to help me when I was young.” She sighed. “But that was a different life. I am glad they no longer judge me for it. And many who did are dead now.”

            “Sit down, Maji. Please. Let me finish.”

            The fact that her mother obeyed belied the fact that she was not as well as she claimed.

            As Diya eased herself into a chair at the two-person table, she gave a dry laugh, “If sales are so good, perhaps I should be sick more often and let my beautiful daughter sell my wares. No doubt the men of the village used sympathy for me as an excuse to loiter around your stall.”

            “Whatever works, Maji.”

            “You always knew how to use your beauty to your advantage.”

            “And so did you. If I recall the story correctly, that’s how you snagged my father’s attention.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And speaking of him, I saw Maysam El Fadil today. There was a boy with her. A cute little thing who wanted one of your dolls.”

            Her mother chuckled. “Yes, he loves to take them apart, Maysam tells me. Typical boy—destroy instead of build.”

            “He said he takes them apart to make them better.”

            “He is a precocious one.”

            “Who is he?”

            Now her mother’s smile vanished, and she began to fidget with the plate in front of her. “I don’t ask such questions of Maysam El Fadil. No one with any sense would.”

            “Maji, you do know his name, right?”

            “Of course,” she mumbled.

            “Henri is not an Arabic name, as you know. And how strange that he has the same name as my father. So who is he?”

            “What does it matter?”

            Nyssa shrugged one shoulder. “I’m just curious. Aren’t you? Maysam seems to love the boy very much, so that leads me to believe she’s close to his parent or parents. Why else would they have a child living in the palace who obviously is of mixed blood, judging by his name and appearance, I mean?”

            “I hope you didn’t ask any impertinent questions of Maysam or the child.”

            “Of course not. You didn’t raise an idiot, did you?” She offered a humoring smile and a wink before bringing the food to the table.

            “Don’t stick your nose into El Fadil business. It will only bring trouble to both of us.”

            Nyssa said nothing more about the boy during the meal, for she wanted to avoid upsetting her mother or opening old wounds. But later, when night had invaded their home and her mother lay asleep in her room, Nyssa remained awake on the sofa, thinking about the encounter in the bazaar.

            The child was significant. She just knew it in her bones. His name…could it betray a secret? No, she was thinking crazy. Henri Ducard was dead, as was his wife, years ago, according to the stories. And their daughter, Talia, was also dead, well before that boy was born. Or was she? A body had never been found in the aftermath of the Gotham siege. The Gotham police commissioner claimed Talia had died in front of him after the truck she had been driving crashed. But Commissioner Gordon had not remained at the site of her demise for long that day. There had been no one else around until later when the citizens emerged from their homes, saved from nuclear annihilation by the Batman flying Bane’s bomb out to sea. The League’s men surely had removed Talia, alive or dead. The global community believed her dead, and Bane as well.

            But, in the gray world of mercenaries, Nyssa had heard rumors from three years ago when the terrorist known as _Al Thi’b_ , the Wolf, had been killed. Although the Americans claimed responsibility for the operation, mercenaries who sometimes operated in the murky world of Islamic radicals claimed the American story was not completely true. Shortly before _Al Thi’b’s_ death, the Saudi terrorist had been contacted by someone offering the sale of a ballistic missile as bait. If that part of the story was true, there were few people or organizations in the world who could or would deal in such weaponry, the League of Shadows being one of them. _Al Thi’b_ wouldn’t have met with the seller without first having proof of the missile’s existence. Who would be so bold except the League’s commander to flaunt such a weapon? It smacked of Bane, but if he lived, why would he work with the Americans, and, equally important, why would the Americans have worked with Bane? Some sort of deal, of course; what else could it be? Something that mutually benefitted both sides.

            So if Bane indeed lived, perhaps Talia did as well. Maybe she was still Demon Head of the League. Perhaps that little boy with Maysam was Talia’s child. Who else could Maysam love as much as she obviously loved that boy? And who was the father?

            Years ago, when Siddig El Fadil had died of a heart attack, a rumor flew through the village that a beautiful young woman who looked very much like Melisande had attended the funeral. The ceremony had been private, of course, so who knew if the whispers were true? But it caught Nyssa’s attention when she had visited her mother a short while after Siddig had been buried. She had rarely considered that she may have half-siblings. If the woman at the funeral was indeed Melisande’s daughter, then she had to have been born in prison. Surely the father wasn’t just some random inmate; if so, Nyssa doubted the El Fadil household would have allowed Melisande’s daughter to attend the funeral, even if Maysam had insisted it be allowed. And the fact that this woman didn’t appear until after Siddig was dead further stirred Nyssa’s curiosity that the mystery woman might indeed be her half-sister. Siddig El Fadil’s shame over Melisande secretly marrying the infidel Henri Ducard had led to his daughter’s imprisonment. No way could he have known Melisande was pregnant at the time he had banished her. If he had, the gossiping villagers had little doubt that Siddig would have terminated the pregnancy, or worse. But with Siddig dead, that meant Melisande’s daughter could safely visit her grandmother without fear of her grandfather’s vengefulness.

            Over the years, Nyssa had eventually pushed aside her curiosity. Discussing the possibility of having a half-sister only caused her mother pain. Nyssa hated her father for being responsible for such sorrow. Her own pain she could bear but not her mother’s. Yet when Nyssa learned of her father’s death, waves of conflicting emotions had drowned her. Unexpectedly, she had been consumed by grief. All the what-ifs revisited her from her years growing up in the village. And learning that her father had been the head of such an infamous organization as the League of Shadows further intrigued her about how her life would have been different if her father had stayed with them. The little girl in her had hoped that perhaps one day she would meet him, that they might finally have a relationship. But the Batman had ended any such hope.

            What of Talia’s relationship with their father? According to Commissioner Gordon, Talia had claimed to be finishing her father’s work with the Gotham siege. If true, she must have had a meaningful relationship with their father. The thought used to make Nyssa jealous and angry. How could her father love Talia while completely forgetting his first daughter? And had he bothered to tell Talia that she had a half-sister? Or had he been too embarrassed by his abandonment to admit such a thing?

            Nyssa sighed and wished she could sleep. Her father was dead and perhaps her half-sister, too. Why should she lose precious sleep tonight thinking about them?

            The boy. Henri.

            The name couldn’t be simply a coincidence, just as her coming back to the village and meeting him in the bazaar couldn’t be simply a coincidence. There was a reason behind the timing of it all. She needed to find out what that reason was. She needed to know if her half-sister truly was dead or alive. And if Talia was indeed dead, then that meant Nyssa was now heir to the Demon. Was it a position she wanted to pursue, her birthright? It was a question she had toyed with ever since her father’s death.

            One corner of her mouth curled into a smile. Her father had taken so much from her mother, from her. Perhaps it was only fitting if she tried to claim what had once been his.

#

            Talia set her dessert plate on the small table between her and Maysam, every last morsel of mafruka devoured. She gazed out over the palace courtyards in the haze of late evening, watched a distant flock of starlings wheel and plunge against the backdrop of purple sky before darting away toward the village. Picking up her coffee cup, she blew gently against the dark liquid as she noted her grandmother’s troubled expression. She had just returned from seeing Abrams out.

            “Is something wrong, Jiddah?”

            Maysam snapped out of her trance, but her frown remained. Bane also watched her closely from his chair near the veranda railing. Barsad raised his eyebrows with interest from where he sat on the other side of Maysam. Next to him, Sanjana stared down at her coffee cup, as if not hearing Talia’s inquiry.

            “No,” Maysam said. “Nothing’s wrong. But there is something I want to say, an apology for my behavior at dinner.”

            “Apology?” Talia echoed.

            “Yes, for what I said to Aaron about Diya’s daughter. I shouldn’t have dismissed his concerns, especially in front of others. I apologized to him just now, and I want to do the same to all of you.”

            Barsad came to her aid with an amused smile. “Abrams didn’t think twice about what you said, I’m sure. He’s a crusty old bastard. He’d never think badly of you.”

            “All the same, I’m sorry.”

            Sanjana had lifted her head when Maysam first said the word apology, and now she blinked with surprise at the older woman before returning her attention to her coffee. Then she leaned over and spoke quietly into Barsad’s ear. Barsad stood.

            “Well, we’re going to say good night.” He took Sanjana’s hands to help her extricate her unwieldy body from her chair. “We’re both exhausted.”

            “Thank you for dinner, Madam,” Sanjana said demurely.

            Standing, Maysam said, “I’m glad you both came.”

            Bane had also stood, and he gave Sanjana a warm smile and nod as she passed by into the dining room with Barsad.

            After their footfalls had died away, Talia said, “I wonder if Sanjana will ever stop calling you Madam.”

            “Perhaps she never will,” Bane said. “She is a respectful girl, as she should be to Maysam.”

            “Because I’m old?” Maysam teased with a small smile.

            Bane grinned. “I never said that.”

            “Well, I am old. Old and foolish to have treated Aaron the way I did.”

            “Jiddah.” Talia touched her hand on the arm of her wicker chair. “It’s not a big deal. None of us took it as an insult toward him. And neither did he, I’m sure.”

            Maysam sighed. “He is a skittish one, though. I fear hurting his feelings.”

            Talia laughed. “He’s a bit tougher than that, Jiddah.”

            “Don’t let his hard outer shell fool you, _hafida_. He is a sensitive man. That is why he is so deeply scarred and why he protects himself emotionally.”

            A spark of mischief danced in Talia’s sapphire eyes. “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

            “Don’t tease me about this again, hafida.”

            “But why not? It’s so fun.”

            “ _Habibati_ ,” Bane gently chided Talia, eyebrows raised. “Leave her be.”

            “But they’re so cute together, don’t you think? And they could have such fun.”

            “You speak as if I am a teenager,” Maysam said. “I am an old woman, older than Aaron. Why would he want anything to do with me in the way you are thinking?”

            “And how am I thinking?”

            “Perhaps,” Bane rumbled, “it is time for us to retire as well, Talia.”

            “You aren’t dead, Jiddah, and neither is Abrams. There’s still more for you in life.”

            “There is plenty for me already—I have my great-grandson and my loving granddaughter to keep me busy, even if she does sometimes stick her nose in my business.”

            “Yes, you’ve devoted your last two years to our child, and we love you for it. But we would also love to see you happy in other ways. You deserve a good man, and Abrams is that.”

            “I told you, he is not interested.”

            “You don’t believe that. He’s just mortally shy, Jiddah. Give him some more time. I know he cares for you. He just doesn’t know how to show it and whether he can because of working for you.”

            Maysam snorted. “You are a foolish girl.”

            “I think she’s right,” Bane said.

            Maysam stared at him in surprise.

            “Abrams does care for you.”

            “He has spoken to you of this?”

            “Of course not. But I know what I see when he looks at you. I, too, am a man, after all.” He winked.

            Maysam blushed.

            Bane got to his feet. “Now, I must retire. _We_ must retire.” He held his hand out to Talia, who frowned at him but accepted his hand and stood. “Thank you for dinner, Maysam.”

            Maysam embraced him. “I’m so glad you’re back, Haris. We have all missed you so much, especially Henri. He worships you.”

            “I’m pleased to be back.” He kissed her cheek. “Good night.”

#

            “Poor Barsad,” Talia said as she and Bane walked down the long hallway toward their suite. “He was trying so hard during dinner to draw Sanjana into the conversation.”

            “It is a difficult situation for Sanjana. I have suggested to him that he take her away from here, to dwell elsewhere, but you can imagine what he said to that.”

            “Before he devoted himself to Sanjana, he devoted himself to you, his brother. You know nothing will ever come between you two, not even the mother of his child.”

            “It should not be this way,” Bane grumbled. “The girl deserves a better life.”

            “Maybe, but it seems to me her life was far worse before she came to the palace.”

            “Indeed, but still, she will always be in Maysam’s shadow here at the palace.”

            Talia glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was within hearing distance. “Do you think she suspects Barsad’s old affair with Maysam? Could that be adding to her discomfort?”

            “Women are uncannily intuitive,” Bane quietly said. “But I surely hope she continues to be ignorant of that part of Barsad’s life. It would crush her. And I can’t imagine she could allow herself to remain at the palace.”

            “But Jiddah is…well, older now.”

            “Of course Sanjana would not fear a rekindling of the relationship, but, as a woman, can you honestly say such a revelation wouldn’t disconcert you, especially when she already feels intimidated by Maysam?”

            Talia frowned. “True, it would add to the awkwardness. But if Sanjana does suspect or find out, I think it wouldn’t have the same effect on her if Jiddah and Abrams were together.”

            “Perhaps.”

            They reached their suite and entered through the door at the near end, one which led into the spa. This door, like the other one farther down the hall, was guarded by one of the League’s men, part of the small security force that lived at the palace since Talia had come to reside here full time.

            The spa was lit dimly by a few of the recessed lights in the low ceiling. Their dull golden shine danced upon the placid water of the rectangular pool. None of the myriad of scented candles were lit, so the smell of chlorine dominated the room. Talia and Bane had made love many times here, both in and out of the water. Bane used the spa even more than Talia did. She often found him relaxing in its warmth in the evenings after dinner, for it soothed his aching back. Afterwards, she sometimes spoiled him with a massage. She always did whatever she could to relieve his pain. But tonight Talia knew without asking that he would not indulge himself; she could tell by the looseness of his arm around her how tired he was from his mission and his long journey home.

            They passed through the Romanesque spa and down the hallway. A guard stood in front of Henri’s bedroom door, and he smiled white teeth in his dark face, a smile that always coaxed the same from Talia. This was Mohammad Adeyemi—known as Yemi—a burly Nigerian who had been rescued from the pit prison with Bane, an old friend who had once saved Talia’s life when she had been an infant. Since becoming a member of the League of Shadows, he continued to protect her as the head of her personal security and now Henri’s as well. Officially, Yemi’s detail was to protect Bane as Demon Head, since Talia no longer held any position in the League after becoming pregnant and relinquishing command to Bane. But Bane made it clear to Yemi and his men that Talia and Henri’s safety was their priority, not him.

            “He hasn’t stirred,” Yemi whispered.

            “Thank goodness,” Talia murmured. “Thank you, Yemi. Have a good night.”

            With a sly grin and a glance at Bane, Yemi said, “You, too,” then left them.

            Talia peeked into Henri’s room, Bane’s gentle hand upon her shoulder. She watched her son sleep, listened to his deep breaths fluttering against the pillow. So innocent, so sweet. If only he was as placid while awake.

            Bane kissed her softly on the cheek and embraced her from behind. She sighed and touched his hand, so relieved to have him here to take some of the pressure of parenthood from her. Life was simple and secure when he was near. Their family was complete, that sense of protection she remembered in the vaguest of ways from long, long ago in prison when her mother still lived and Bane was her father, brother, and best friend. More of a feeling than a memory, really, for how clear were the memories of a five-year-old?

            Afraid Henri might sense their presence and awaken, Talia pressed back against Bane to encourage him to retreat. His stirring manhood made itself known. She loved how much he still desired her, even as tired as he was.

            Pulling Henri’s door silently shut, she whispered, “I’m going to wash up for bed. Would you mind pouring me a glass of wine?”

            Bane sensually kissed her neck, making her body tingle. “Your wish is my command. Don’t be long, my dove.” Then he freed her and headed down the hallway.

            Talia watched him, noting how his usually-lumbering steps were often lighter whenever he was aroused. Distraction eased his aches and pains. She was glad to be responsible for it. Whatever she could give him, she would. After all, no matter how much she did for him, she could never repay him for his lifelong devotion.

            In the obscenely large bathroom, she washed her face and brushed her teeth, thinking about her grandmother and Abrams. She wished there would be a breakthrough in their relationship, especially now with Barsad so close to becoming a father. Though her grandmother never said anything about how Barsad’s relationship with Sanjana affected her, Talia knew there was still a lingering nostalgia in her grandmother over the torrid affair she had had with Barsad years before he had met Bane, back when he worked for the El Fadil family. It was not that her grandmother still carried a torch for Barsad but instead, Talia surmised, it was merely a natural loneliness from seeing those around her in love, especially a man whom she had once called her own. Talia was confident a relationship with Aaron Abrams would fill the hole in her grandmother’s life.

            Talia frowned, knowing Abrams was a tough nut to crack. Bane had confided to her what Abrams once told him in prison, before Talia had even been born. There had been a prisoner, called the Vulture, who had befriended Bane directly after Bane’s mother had died, when the boy was most vulnerable. Unbeknownst to Bane, the inmate was a pedophile. Abrams had told him to be cautious around the Vulture on more than one occasion. From what Abrams had said, Bane later realized—after the Vulture tried to rape him—that Abrams’s warnings had come from personal experience with a similar deviant, though Abrams never clarified or elaborated. Seeing Abrams every day and witnessing his tightly guarded ways, Talia figured his behavior even now was influenced by the abuse he suffered in the past. Though Abrams was comfortable with Yemi, Bane, and Barsad and had forged a strong friendship, he had never confided the secrets of his youth to any of them. That life, and Abrams’s life in the pit, were memories he refused to revisit. Perhaps he feared that entering an intimate relationship with Maysam—or any woman—would lead to uncomfortable questions about his past.

            Lately, Maysam talked more and more about trying to get closer to Abrams. She often pondered aloud her confusion over why Abrams refused to explore their relationship, especially when his body language revealed his interest in her. On more than one occasion, Talia considered telling her grandmother what she and Bane suspected about Abrams’s past, but she held her tongue, not wanting to say something so intimate about her friend, especially when she had no confirmation that he had indeed been abused and certainly had no permission to do so even if she had proof. Instead, Talia had couched her reasons for his distance with mere speculation, safe things like a broken heart or even a sexual dysfunction, hoping this would satisfy her grandmother. Yet, Maysam’s wistful search for answers continued, and it wounded Talia’s heart.

            “What is taking you so long, habibati?” Bane’s voice startled Talia.

            In the mirror, she watched him approach from the doorway, naked and still aroused. The sight of his stiff, bobbing member instantly stirred her, initiating a rush of molten heat from within her.

            “I was thinking of Jiddah and Abrams.”

            Bane’s tree-like arms slipped around her, and he buried his nose in her long, dark hair. “It is true Abrams moves with the speed of a glacier, but rest assured he is moving inevitably in Maysam’s direction. Patience, little mouse. Look how long I had to wait for you, but it was well worth it. Your grandmother will think the same in time.” He pulled her against him, not allowing her to turn and face him. “Now, no more talk of romance except our own.”

            His hand lazily unzipped her pants, dipping inside. She wore no underwear to hinder his exploration. Another gush of liquid desire, coating his fingers as he made her writhe slightly and close her eyes. His other hand tugged her pants off her hips, and they folded like an accordion around her bare feet. He growled softly and kissed her neck, sending further tremors of delight through her.

            With the inescapable fortitude of a mountain, Bane pinned her against the white marble vanity, a willing captive, her hands braced along the far edge of the sink. She loved it when he took charge. It was almost always this way when he returned from a mission, as if he felt the need to dominate and reclaim her. Sometimes she would pretend to resist, just to increase the sexual tension and his determination, but he always won, bending her to his will, the only man who ever could.

            Deftly his fingers unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on her blouse, enough to make it easy for him to drag it over her head. His fingers trailed through her mane, then down between her shoulder blades. As he pressed her torso toward the sink, she tilted her pelvis to offer what he desired, to encourage him. Between her thighs, his skillful fingers continued to tantalize her, making her impatient. She already panted in anticipation, his warm manhood pressed against her buttocks. She arched herself even more, wanting his cock between her legs, wanting to reach for it but unable to because of the vanity against her belly.

            Finally his erection rubbed against her swollen heat. Talia moaned and tried to move, in vain.

            “You are trapped, my love,” he murmured hoarsely in her ear. “Like a beautiful butterfly in a spider’s web. A spider who wishes to devour you.”

            He rubbed his penis against her womanhood, torturing her further. He smeared her warmth the length of his erection. She bent closer to the sink, opening herself even wider to him, like a flower as the sun rises. His other hand fondled her dangling breasts. How she wanted to touch him, to quench her own thirst. But he was unrelenting in his pressure against the vanity, and finally he glided inside her, nearly lifting her off her feet, her toes curling.

            His hands took hold of her hips, and he began to move, first with shallow thrusts, but not so shallow that he would drift outside of her and need to begin again. But he was cognizant of how uncomfortable her position was against the marble, so his thrusts soon went deeper, harder, faster. More than once she lost her footing, but the pinning force of his body kept her anchored.

            In the mirror’s reflection, animal passion contorted his face, his eyes pressed shut in concentration, his mouth slightly open to emit grunts of pleasure. No mask to deprive Talia of his handsome visage. Even the scars from the surgeries failed to detract from his looks. She longed to run her fingers through his short, unkempt brown hair.

            Bane’s fingers dug into her hips. His speed, his urgency accelerated, and Talia gripped the faucet fixtures to brace against him. The edge of the vanity bruised her hip bones, but the pain only served to heighten her own excitement. As if sensing she was about to lose the ability to keep him from forcing her headfirst into the mirror, he snaked one arm between her belly and the vanity, locking her against his driving pelvis. Deeper, deeper until she cried out in ecstasy, knuckles turning white as she clenched the gold fixtures, no longer able to look in the mirror, to see anything. Instead she just felt—felt his power, her surrender, their consummation; heard their mingled outcries, echoing against the glass and marble.

            He caught her as she collapsed, kept her tight against him while he shuddered out his last, his breath leaving him in one long exhale. Slowly, reluctantly he withdrew, wrapped both arms around her limp form. His legs trembled, and he succumbed to their weakness, drawing her with him to the cool floor where they sat together. Talia sighed and remained in his arms, sitting between his hard-muscled legs, his slimy, sated member against her. She leaned against his chest, and he kissed the top of her head.

            “How I’ve missed this,” Talia murmured, her finger trailing across his bulging pectorals. “I wish you would never have to leave us.”

            He kissed her lips. “If I had my wish, you would be with me always, my dear, you and our difficult boy cub.” Mischief glinted in his eyes. “Your company is far more appealing than Barsad’s.”

            She smiled her appreciation, welcomed another kiss, then relaxed against him once more.

            Bane hugged her close, breathing in the bouquet of her hair and the lingering scent from their union. “Let us take a shower, habibati, and wash ourselves clean before bed. I will need my rest if I am to entertain our son all day tomorrow, as he will demand. And I can see how very tired you are, perhaps more so than I.”

            “Yes,” she sighed. “I don’t think I ever had a tougher mission during my years in the League than what I face now, raising a child.”

            Bane chuckled. “Well, at least I will be here for a while to relieve you.”

            Her frown came again, bringing with it the melancholy she had been experiencing for the past few weeks, since Bane had left. But how to explain it to him? She preferred not to burden him with her troubles, though her grandmother insisted she speak with him about it. She remembered how he had probed her gaze earlier, upon his return, and asked if something was wrong. Of course he knew something was amiss; he was always so in tune with her, as she was with him. If she tried to keep her feelings to herself, he would find a way to pry the secret out of her, so perhaps her grandmother was right.

            As Bane helped Talia to her feet, she thought of Henri’s latest act of defiance. Perhaps when she showed Bane the evidence, he would thoroughly understand the level of her frustration. If anyone could change Henri’s behavior, it was his father. Talia had nearly given up.


	5. Chapter 5

            “Oh, Jesus!” Barsad cried out.

            With satisfaction, Sanjana watched his naked form collapse backward where he sat on the edge of the bed. She swallowed what he had left behind in her mouth, then used the mattress to help her rise from her knees. While Barsad lay panting, eyes closed, she rinsed her mouth with a drink of water from a glass on the nightstand, then lay with her head on his chest.

            Sanjana studied his handsome, scruffy face with its high forehead, heavy-lidded eyes and long, straight nose. His thin lips, shaped like an archer’s bow, parted slightly to help him catch his breath after her oral ministrations. Pleased with her ability to gratify her lover, she could not help but smile at the satisfaction on his face. As if reading her thoughts, Barsad opened one eye. Her smile broadened into a small giggle, and she trailed her finger over his moist lips.

            “Proud of yourself, are you?” he teased.

            “I just enjoy seeing you happy. And back in our bed.”

            “Mmmm,” he sighed. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

            Barsad shifted to a more comfortable position on the bed, Sanjana’s pregnant belly tight against him. He kissed her and reached for a pillow upon which to rest their heads, then he put his arms around her, kissed her again.

            “You and your magic tongue,” he murmured.

            Sanjana scoffed lightly. “You are easy to please, my love, especially after you’ve been gone so long.”

            He closed his eyes and rested, languidly stroking her hair. “Has the baby settled down?”

            “Yes. The kicks have stopped.”

            “Good.”

            “He is strong, like his father.” Sanjana’s hand glided along Barsad’s powerful forearm.

            “He? Did you find something out while I was gone? I thought you didn’t want to know the baby’s sex.”

            “No, I didn’t find anything out, but more and more I feel that it is a boy. He is already troublesome, like his father.”

            “But you want a girl.”

            “I want a healthy child.”

            “Yeah, yeah. We both do, but you can say what you want, Sanji, I know you want a girl.”

            “And you want a boy, though you won’t admit it. I see you with Henri. You want a boy of your own. You don’t want Bane one-upping you.” She grinned.

            “Well…he has been strutting around like the cock of the walk since Henri was born, and, yeah, you might say there’s a little male ego involved in this, but really,” he kissed her, “I’ll be happy with whatever eventually pops out of this big belly of yours.” Barsad affectionately rubbed her naked baby bump, her skin as tight as a ripe tomato, her belly button inverted.

            “It would be nice for Henri to have a little boy to play with,” Sanjana said, “someone other than the El Fadil children. Henri doesn’t really get along with them. I feel so bad for him. My brothers used to play all day outside with their friends, growing up. They were never a prisoner like little Henri. I think that is why he gives his mother so much trouble.” She frowned. “I hope our child won’t be so willful. I don’t know if I could handle him, especially with you gone so much.”

            Barsad ignored her veiled point. He rested his cheek against her forehead. “Henri’s the way he is because of who his parents are—have you ever known two more willful people? We’re more laidback, you and me. Our kid will be a walk in the park compared to Henri. You’ll see.”

            Sanjana sighed. “One long month to go.”

            Barsad reared his head to grin at her. “You know, they say vigorous sex can trigger labor.”

            She gave his nipple a playful tweak. “That is a wives’ tale, and you know it. You aren’t fooling me, John Barsad. Besides, you said you were too tired.”

            “I just said that so you’d give me a blow job.”

            She smacked his chest and feigned an angry look. “Just for that, you will get nothing more tonight.”

            Barsad chuckled. “You can’t resist me, and you know it.”

            Sanjana gave a soft snort of dismissiveness and draped one long, brown leg across his.

            “Speaking of resistance,” Barsad said with a strange hint of wistfulness, “how long do you think Abrams will take before he finally gives in to Maysam’s charms?”

            Sanjana hid her frown and remained silent for a moment. Though unsure why, she never liked it when Barsad spoke of Maysam in such flattering ways. She told herself she was being foolish over such a thing and that she would surely be jealous of any woman Barsad spoke of so fondly. Maybe it only bothered her because of her own uneasy relationship with Maysam. Yet ever since the day Sanjana had met Barsad in Maysam’s salon, she easily saw the warm rapport between him and her employer. On that first day, it meant nothing to Sanjana, but once her interest in Barsad began to blossom, she sometimes wondered about the two because of how close they seemed, something that went beyond old friends or old colleagues. On occasion, their body language and the way they spoke seemed almost flirtatious. Each time, Sanjana told herself she was imagining things, especially considering the age difference, Maysam’s religion and family. Yet, there was a significant age gap between herself and Barsad, and that had no bearing on _their_ relationship.

            “Well?” Barsad interrupted her thoughts, tipping her chin up. “How long do you think it’ll take Abrams? Bane, Yemi, and I have a pool going. Want in?”

            Sanjana rested her chin on his chest and pinned a displeased look on him. “I hope you three aren’t teasing that poor man.”

            “Nah. Well…Bane and Yemi don’t.”

            “John, leave Abrams alone.”

            Barsad laughed. “You’re only defending him because he can be as uncomfortable at Maysam’s table as you are.”

            “I wouldn’t have had any need to be uncomfortable if we had stayed here and had dinner, just the two of us.”

            “Wouldn’t want to insult your boss, my dear.”

            “She wouldn’t have cared if I wasn’t there.”

            “That’s not true.”

            “I think it is.”

            “Sanji.” Barsad raised himself on his elbows. “You’re being unfair to Maysam.”

            Sanjana sat up, feeling chilled. “Maysam? What about me?”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “I think you’re being unfair to _me_. You’re more concerned with hurting Maysam’s feelings than with hurting mine.”

            “Baby, don’t be silly.” He sat up, rubbed her arm where gooseflesh had appeared. “It would be disrespectful if we hadn’t gone.”

            “If _you_ hadn’t gone. I could have stayed here; she would have been relieved.”

            “What? No.”

            Barsad put his arm around her shoulders. At first, she resisted his attempt to pull her close, but then she allowed him to embrace her, for she wanted his comfort. She could not, however, lift her gaze to him, both ashamed and injured.

            “Remember,” he gently scolded, “we’re guests here. This is Maysam’s home. We have to show respect, if for no other reason than her hospitality. Besides, if we hadn’t gone, Bane would’ve given us shit. He does believe in propriety, you know…and appreciation. Maysam is risking a lot by having me, him, and Talia living here.”

            “Then perhaps we should move elsewhere.”

            “Baby, you know my job is with Bane.”

            “Then he and Talia could move with us.”

            “They aren’t going to take Henri away from Maysam.”

            In utter frustration, Sanjana said, “Then let him stay and the rest of us go.”

            Barsad held her at arm’s length, studied her. “You know that’ll never happen, and it shouldn’t. Sanji, what’s going on?”

            She struggled to articulate her feelings. “I feel so…insignificant here.”

            He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Nothing’s farther from the truth. You’re the most important thing in my life. I hope _I_ haven’t made you feel insignificant.”

            “No, it’s not you.”

            “Then what? Has Maysam said something to you?”

            “She doesn’t need to say anything. I feel it. She doesn’t think I’m good enough for you. And why would she? You won’t ask me to marry you, after all. I’m just your concubine.”

            Barsad scowled. “That’s not fair, Sanjana. You know why we aren’t married.”

            “Yes, the League. But sometimes I wonder, if you weren’t in the League, would you still ask me?”

            “Marriage isn’t important to me. I really don’t believe in it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you and want to be with you.”

            “But it is important to me. I can’t take my child to see his or her grandparents and tell them I am unwed.”

            “Then tell them you are.”

            Sanjana fell silent, stared at her restless fingers in her lap. She sighed. “What does it matter? They can never meet you anyway, not when the world knows your face and you are wanted by the authorities because of Gotham. So what good would it do me to tell them I am married when they can never meet my husband? They will think I’m just making you up so they accept my child.”

            Barsad turned her to face him and spoke gently. “Sanji, I know this is difficult for you. I’m sorry. I never should have allowed us to fall in love. And now, a baby to complicate matters even more. There are things I can’t give you—a normal life being one of them. Maybe, someday.”

            “Can’t you leave the League? If not for my sake, then for the sake of our child?”

            “Not as long as Bane needs me. And, Sanji,” his blue gaze darkened like a stormy sea, “Bane told me you spoke to him about this.”

            “I’m sorry, John. But I was desperate.”

            He cupped her cheek with his warm palm. “This is our problem, not his. Don’t put him in the middle.”

            “But he understood me. I think he agrees with me. I think he would release you if you just asked.”

            “Of course he would because he cares for you, but I won’t ask, and Talia won’t let him release me either. She and I both know Bane needs me. No one else can reason with him the way I can. I keep him from being too rash in the field, and that keeps him alive. Talia appreciates that, even more now that they have Henri. She knows how focused Bane can be during an operation; he tends to wear blinkers sometimes, and that’s not always good. So, as long as he’s in the field, I have to be, too. You know that. That’s not going to change, no matter how many times you and I discuss this.”

            Sanjana had not realized how close she was to tears until one spilled down her cheek.

            “Damn it, Sanji,” he murmured, “don’t cry. C’mere.” He drew her back into his arms, kissed her ear. “Think about the baby. Soon you’ll have a little one to take your mind off all this. You’re just stressed right now because of the pregnancy.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her lips. “Don’t ever think you’re insignificant. I love you, and we’re gonna get through this together, okay?”

            Sanjana succumbed to his striking blue eyes, to their sultriness and warmth. She told herself she was indeed being unfair to him with her demands. After all, considering the rapes, no one would ever care for her the way she knew Barsad did. He had avenged her, rescued her, loved her. What more could she desire?

            “We’re both tired,” he said. “C’mon.” He returned the pillow to its place at the head of the bed, then pulled back the sheet and light blanket. “Let’s get some sleep.”

            They crawled between the sheets and turned off the bedside lamp. Barsad drew her to him, kissed her forehead and wiped away the last of her tears.

            “Sanji,” he whispered. “Not being married doesn’t mean I’m looking for an easy out if things become rocky, if that’s what you’re afraid of. The fact that I’m with you, that I’m having a child with you, after preferring to be alone all my life, should tell you what you mean to me. Do you understand?”

            She closed her eyes, tried to accept things, to believe him. “Yes. Maybe you’re right—once the baby arrives, I’ll be able to look at things differently. I think things just build and build inside me when you are away.” Sanjana held him tight. “I’m so glad you’re going to be here for a while.”

            Barsad kissed her, and she could sense his smile through the darkness. “There’s no place I’d rather be, darlin’.”

#

            Bane watched Talia finish the last swallow of her Bordeaux blend, a bold-flavored wine grown at the League’s own vineyard in France. Of course the world had no idea that Chateau Blanc was owned by the League, but connoisseurs the world over were familiar with its vintages.

            Talia, now lounging in a black lace chemise, licked the last vestiges of wine from her lips, seemingly lost in its taste. She loved her reds, the bolder the better. Ever since her schooling at Le Rosey in Switzerland, she had preferred anything French in various aspects of her life, including her wines, food, and the language, the latter so much so that its flavor touched every other language she spoke.

            Bane set aside his now-empty glass—tonight his wine choice had been a cabernet franc, for he preferred cooler climate wines, something medium-bodied. League rubrics forbade alcohol use except for moderate wine consumption with meals, but since Talia was no longer an official member of the League, she often drank a glass in the evenings and insisted Bane join her, especially when he had just returned from an arduous mission.

            “You deserve it,” she would always say. “And not just because of your mission but because of all those years wearing the mask, when simply drinking a glass of wine was a trial. You missed out on so many of life’s simple pleasures.”

            Initially Bane had dismissed her excuses for him to drink, but her persistence led to the periodic glass. Sometimes he teased her that she had really left the League so she had free rein to enjoy the League’s wines. Indeed Talia had a strong influence on all aspects of Chateau Blanc. Now and then she wistfully spoke of one day retiring there, in the Pyrenees region of France. She loved the mountains, for their towering, snow-draped slopes reminded her and Bane of their early home with the League of Shadows, the training base high amongst the Himalayas.

            Bane stood from the sofa and stretched before heading to the small bathroom located to one side of their bed. After using the toilet, he emerged to return to Talia but suddenly halted beside the bed. It struck him that something was missing, something significant.

            “Where is your mother’s blanket?” he asked.

            Talia quickly looked over her shoulder to where he stood. “Oh, habibi.” Sorrow darkened her eyes, and she hurriedly set aside her glass and came to him.

            “Where is it?” he repeated.

            Once a gift from Henri Ducard to his wife, the blanket was a treasure not only to Bane and Talia but to Maysam as well. The dark, hand-woven blanket, with its muted variety of colors and floral patterns, had accompanied Melisande into prison and provided comfort to all of them over the years, both physically and emotionally. Once Bane and Talia had been rescued from the pit and taken to their mountain home, Henri Ducard had grudgingly allowed Bane to keep the blanket in his room at Talia’s insistence. But, when Bane was excommunicated from the League for insubordination and the murder of the League’s second-in-command, Ducard had reclaimed the blanket. After his death, Talia returned the blanket to Bane. Bane was a man of no possessions except one: Melisande’s blanket. It was precious beyond measure, for he had loved Melisande with all his heart and mourned her to this day.

            “Habibi,” Talia said again, reaching for his hands. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to tell you.”

            “Tell me what?” An edge of anger crept into his voice, not only because of Talia concealing something from him but because of his anxiety over the blanket’s disappearance. “Where is it?”

            She frowned as if in defeat and let go of him. Bowing her head, she went around the bed to a large dresser. Bane followed, stood behind her as she opened the bottom drawer and removed the blanket, which had been precisely folded.

            “Why did you put it away? It should remain on our bed always.”

            Talia unfolded the blanket, her expression pinched, and spread it out on the bed. It was not large—it took up only a third of their bed. Bane stared in outrage, for one corner of the blanket had been torn some fifteen centimeters, and the fringe along the edges—maroon and cream-colored—had been ripped away near the tear. His hand explored the wound.

            “How did this happen?” he demanded.

            Talia sank to the bed, her hand caressing her mother’s blanket. “A couple of days ago, Henri was being particularly obstinate about not wanting to take his afternoon nap. He wouldn’t go to his room, and when I carried him there, he kept getting out of bed. For some reason, he had it in his head that you were coming home that day, and he wanted to be awake to greet you. No matter what I said or did, he wouldn’t believe me, and he wouldn’t settle down. He was so angry.”

            “Did you fetch Maysam to help?”

            “She was away, visiting one of her relatives overnight. But I don’t think Henri would have listened even to her. He just wanted you to be home. I had to literally chase him at one point, and that was when he grabbed the blanket off the bed and dragged it down the hallway.” Her sigh gave a sound to all her troubles and fatigue as she stared at the blanket. “He ran into the bathroom and shut the door, but the blanket got caught along the bottom corner. When he tried to yank it free so the door would shut, the blanket ripped. The fabric is so old now; it didn’t take much to harm it. I’m so sorry, Bane.”

            “It was not your fault,” he rumbled.

            “I haven’t been able to tell Jiddah either. You know how dreadful I am with a needle and thread, so I thought I’d ask Sanjana to sew the tear so Jiddah won’t notice it, at least not right away.”

            “Tell me what punishment you meted out for this outrage.” He sat across the blanket from her, away from the ripped corner.

            “Does it matter? Nothing makes any impression on Henri.”

            “I certainly hope you tried.”

            “Of course. I spanked him; I yelled at him. Worse than I’ve ever done. I think it almost frightened him. And then when he saw the tears in my eyes, he finally settled down and seemed somewhat contrite. At least he let me put him to bed. I don’t think he slept, though, just to spite me. Oh, Bane, sometimes I just don’t know what to do with him. I feel like such a failure.”

            The frustration in her voice tempered his own emotions. Those tears from that day appeared ready to return, so he tenderly drew the blanket into his lap and sat close to her, put his arm around her.

            “I shall have a long talk with our cub tomorrow. His behavior is unacceptable. I will punish him. We both know that will have more of an effect on him coming from me.”

            “But, Bane, he has so little time with you; I’d hate for it to be spent that way.”

            “I can see how his continued disobedience is wearing on you. Understandably so. And it has escalated to this.” He lovingly touched the blanket.

            Talia’s frown deepened. “What would Mama do if she were here?”

            “No doubt her patience would be just as exhausted as yours, my dear. This is my fault for being away so frequently. When I am here, I indulge the boy too much. I fear that has contributed to his obstinacy.”

            “Was I that way when I was two?”

            Bane offered a consoling smile and kissed her forehead. “You had your moments, little mouse. But the difference is that Henri is spoiled and living in a palace. We had no way to spoil you or provide a palace, and thus you matured before your time and appreciated every small comfort your mother and I could provide you. After she died, your grief caused you to become a bit more unmanageable, but in time that passed, and you only challenged me on occasion.”

            Talia absently played with some of the fringe on her mother’s blanket. “How did you ever do it, Bane? Raising me by yourself in that nightmare and keeping my sex hidden all those years?”

            “I had the examples set by our mothers to guide me. There were none finer to learn from.”

            Talia leaned her head on his bare shoulder. “I wish I could have known your mother.”

            “She would have loved you, habibati.”

            “And I would have loved her. I wish I could speak to them about raising children. Two years, and I still feel inept.”

            “Nonsense. Henri would be a challenge to anyone.” He played with her hair, which was draped over her smooth, inviting shoulder. “He is our child, after all.” Bane gave a small chuckle. “Barsad says we deserve Henri’s personality.”

            “Barsad had better watch what he says. It could all come back to haunt him once he has a child of his own. That’s why I want them to have a boy. Then he’ll see.”

            “No, my dear. Barsad’s child, I believe, will be much different from Henri, just as Barsad and Sanjana are so very different from us. Their child will be more even-keeled and reserved.”

            “Barsad—reserved?” Talia laughed.

            Bane grinned. “That trait will come from Sanjana.”

            They fell into silence for a long moment, and Bane felt Talia fully relax against him. At first, he thought she had fallen asleep, but then she spoke softly.

            “I think of all the things I accomplished when I was with the League. Intricate games, dangerous liaisons, manipulations. But now I can’t even manipulate my own two-year-old son to take a nap.”

            “Don’t be so hard on yourself, my love.” Bane’s finger tipped her chin up, so he could see into her tired eyes. “I think what you need is a break from motherhood for a couple of weeks.”

            She straightened. “What do you mean?”

            “I mean, you should take a vacation away from here, without Henri.”

            Her mouth gaped slightly. “I can’t leave Henri.”

            “Of course you can. Just for two weeks. Go to Chateau Blanc. I will remain here. Henri needs to know what it feels like to be without his mother. He will appreciate you more when you return, I am sure of it. Consider it his punishment for this crime.” He gestured to the blanket.

            “But I…we’ve never been separated.”

            “That is part of the problem. He takes you for granted.”

            Talia considered his words, staring off into the darker corners of the room. Bane saw her conflicting emotions. There was a spark of excitement in her eyes at the prospect of being someplace relaxing for a while, yet there were lines of anxiety creasing her broad forehead as well.

            “You must go, habibati,” he murmured into her hair, then nibbled her ear. “Trust me on this. It will be good for both of you, and for me. I will get a true taste of what you have been experiencing. Perhaps that perspective will help me find a way to improve our cub’s behavior for the times when I am gone.”

            “But when could I go? You might need to leave—”

            “No, I will not leave while you are gone.”

            “But what if Barsad’s baby comes early? I want to be here for the birth.”

            “Sanjana is not due for a month still. Besides, you will not be that far away. Our jet could have you back here in no time.”

            When Talia started to come up with another reason to stay, Bane put a finger to her lips and smiled at her.

            “You need to do this. Trust me.” He narrowed his eyes, teasing, “Do you not think me capable of this perilous assignment?”

            She blushed and smiled. “You are capable of any assignment, habibi.”

            “Then tell me you will go. Tomorrow. I will make some calls tonight to have our brothers waiting at the chateau for your protection. And Yemi will accompany you.”

            Talia absently rubbed her arm as if chilled.

            “You may drink wine to your heart’s content and explore the mountains. You are not a desert rose, like your grandmother. Three years in the desert is a long time for you. You are a child of the mountains. It will renew you to visit them.”

            “Why don’t we all go, as a family?”

            “Good try, little mouse, but no. This will be just for you.”

            “I don’t think—”

            Again his finger silenced her lips. “Don’t think, just do as I say. And trust me. I have always known what is best for you, have I not?”

            “Yes,” she mumbled, sounding like that child of the pit.

            “Then it is settled.” Bane tenderly folded the blanket and returned it to the dresser. “I will have your mother’s blanket repaired while you are gone.”

            As he turned back to her, his gaze devoured the shape of her breasts and hips beneath the filigree veil of her chemise. The stirring in his loins renewed.

            “Now.” He sat beside her, smiled devilishly. “Let us make the most of our last night together.”


	6. Chapter 6

A sunny morning brightened the small dining room where Bane, Talia, and Henri ate breakfast. Because Bane and Talia had slept late after their night of lovemaking, it was already too hot to eat on the veranda. Talia preferred to eat indoors with Henri because, outside, the child was too easily distracted from his meal by the call of birds or the sound of voices in the courtyard below, an entire world beckoning his adventurous little mind. Also, the boy would attempt to climb the ornate veranda railing and risk a fall to his death if he was not watched every second.

            Henri, finished with his meal, though he had not eaten everything on his plate, seemed momentarily deep within his imagination. Two small, plastic dinosaurs—t-rexes—kept him occupied as he made them fight on the table, complete with varied roars and screams. Bane looked up from his newspaper to see Talia watching their son, lost in thought, her brow furrowed, one hand to her mouth as she absently chewed her fingernails. Bane frowned. He would not allow her to change her mind on leaving, though he could see that was exactly what was in her eyes.

            A quiet knock against the open door drew his attention to Yemi’s arrival.

            “Good morning,” the Nigerian said. “Please excuse the intrusion.”

            “What is it, Yemi?” Bane asked.

            “We will be ready to leave for the airstrip within the hour. Is that acceptable?”

            Talia’s stricken gaze went from Yemi to Bane. “I…I’m not packed. I haven’t talked to Jiddah. I need more time.”

            Patiently, Bane said to Yemi, “Ninety minutes.”

            “Very well,” Yemi said and slipped away.

            Henri all too well knew the dreaded phrase “leave for the airstrip.” The dinosaurs froze in his grip as he looked to his father, worry widening his eyes. “Papa Baba go?”

            “Do not fear, my cub. I am not leaving you. I promised, did I not?”

            Henri smiled, all right with the world again, and went back to his dinosaurs’ fight to the death.

            The very fact that Henri never considered that it was his mother who was bound for the airstrip gave Bane’s heart a twist. He dreaded the boy’s reaction when told the truth.

            “Bane,” Talia said. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.”

            “I asked you to trust me, habibati.”

            “You know I do.  But, last night, yesterday…I was just tired and frustrated. Maybe I shouldn’t have said some of the things I said. Things will be better now that you’re home. I’m sure of it.”

            “So am I, my dear. And that is why we must stick to the plan.” He reached for her hand before she could say anything more, but her attention was glued to Henri. “It’s for the best. You will see, once you are there.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek and whisper into her ear, “Now, why don’t you pack and talk to your grandmother while I entertain our cub? Then we will come to say good-bye.”

            Talia gave him one last beseeching, conflicted look before obeying. She kissed Henri’s cheek on the way out, but he protested, “Mama!” for breaking his concentration from his toys.

            Bane pushed his chair back. “Come now, dinosaur king. You have as much food on you as in your stomach. Let us remove those pajamas and take a quick dunk in the pool before a shower.”

            Henri beamed. “The big pool, Papa Baba?” he asked, referring to the Olympic-size swimming pool downstairs.

            “No, the spa this time.” He lifted the child from his chair. “We shall go to the big pool this afternoon, if you are good.”

            “I’m always good, Papa Baba.”

            “Hmmm. That is up for debate, little one. But hold onto your dinosaurs. They may enjoy a swim as well.”

            In the windowless spa, Bane turned all the lights on, adding illumination to the muted lights already shining in the twelve-meter by seven-meter pool. He still carried Henri, who was already squirming in anticipation. He knew better than to free the child because the boy was apt to leap into the water with his pajamas still on.

            “Patience, my little worm,” Bane said as he lumbered over to the steps that led into the pool.

            “Turn bubbles on, Papa Baba!”

            “No, we are not going to be here long enough to bother with the jets. We must take a shower afterwards and get dressed.”

            Bane set Henri down but held onto him.

            “Hurry!” Henri threw the dinosaurs into the water

            “What did I just say about patience, Jin?” he said firmly, momentarily halting the boy’s wiggling. “Do you want to play in the water or not?”

            “Yes, please.”

            “Then hold still while I undress you.”

            “You swim, too?”

            “Yes, I will come in with you.”

            As soon as he was free of his pajamas, Henri squealed with joy, and instead of using the steps into the pool, he squirted away from his father and leapt into the water from the side. He came up sputtering happily and proceeded to dogpaddle the length of the pool. Henri required no flotation devices like Bane knew so many of today’s children used. Both he and Henri scoffed at such things, though Maysam often scolded Bane over his decision.

            Stripped of his own clothes, Bane entered the pool, chuckling over his son’s happy shouts. When Henri swam back to him, Bane knelt so the boy could clamber onto his back and ride his father like a sea serpent. The pool was only a little over a meter deep throughout, so Bane walked in a crouch more than swam. Now and then he would rear up out of the water and make sounds like a monster, drawing giggles from Henri. Other times he would submerge, Henri clinging around his neck, laughing underwater.

            When Bane finally carried the boy out of the pool, Henri protested.

            “Silence, little one. Here, take your dinosaurs. Let me dry you off a bit so you don’t drip all the way down the hallway.”

            Bane reached for one of the immaculate white towels that lay folded on a teak bench against the near wall. Wrapping his son in one of them, he instructed the boy to sit on the bench while he used another towel to dry himself. Then he put Henri on his lap and sighed, considered the shimmering surface of the pool.

            “When I was a little boy your age,” he said, hugging his child, “there was a pool where I lived. It was a little bigger than this one, but it was not for swimming. It was for drinking and washing. But your mama was determined to swim in it.” He chuckled at the memory, though at the time the prospect of Talia swimming in the pool and potentially revealing her true sex through her threadbare clothing had terrified him. “I had a devil of a time keeping her out of it for a while.”

            “Mama swim with us in the big pool today?”

            Bane hid his frown from the boy and only grunted, noncommittal. “You must appreciate this spa and your big pool, Jin. You must appreciate everything. That means you must always be thankful. You must never think you will always have these wonderful things. Do you understand, little one?”

            “Yes, Papa Baba,” he said, though Bane knew he was too young to truly understand the significance.

            “Not all children are as lucky as you. They live in poverty, not in palaces. They don’t have enough to eat.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because they don’t have money. They were born into poor families, like I was. So you are a lucky boy.” Bane secured the towel around his waist, then stood with Henri still in his arms. “And you must never forget how lucky you are, not just to have a beautiful home and all the food you can eat, but to have a mother and father and great-grandmother who love you dearly.”

            Henri made the plastic dinosaurs kiss Bane’s cheeks. “I love you, too, Papa Baba.”

            “I know you do, my son. Now, let us take a quick shower, then we shall go see your mother.”

            The prospect of more aquatic fun made Henri smile. He clutched his toys as he and his father left their clothes behind for Hisham to gather later and wash.

#

            “I think you should stay out of the village until Diya Panjabi’s daughter is gone,” Abrams said.

            Maysam eyed him over her cup of tea as they sat on the veranda outside the salon. While the early heat made Abrams perspire, Maysam was impervious to its influence this early in the day when the veranda lay blanketed in shade. The diffused light made Abrams’s brown eyes appear much darker, familiar lines of concern lowering his broad brow. To Maysam, there was something amusing about seeing such a rugged man so worried.

            “Very well,” Maysam said. “If you feel it wise.”

            “I do. I’ll try to learn a bit more about this Nyssa woman today through our contacts. In the meantime, Davos will keep an eye on her.”

            “He will have a boring day. Diya’s daughter will be tending her mother’s wares in the bazaar again.” She smoothed the deep tangerine silk of her blouse. “Well, Aaron, if you will forbid me from shopping locally, perhaps you will agree to take me to the Johari Bazaar in Jaipur. I’m sure Talia would love to come, too. I’d like to buy some things for John’s baby, and Henri, of course.”

            “Until we learn whether Nyssa poses a threat, I think it’s best if all of you stay here in the palace.”

            “How much of a threat can Nyssa pose to me in Jaipur, sitting here in the bazaar all day or at her mother’s bedside?”

            “Maybe none. But we don’t know. If she’s harmless, she’ll probably be gone soon, then you’ll be free again.”

            Maysam studied him. He held her gaze longer than usual but eventually looked away. He was so different from both Siddig and Barsad. Bold, forthright men, those two. With Abrams, everything was veiled except his inner strength; Maysam saw that clearly. Getting to know him was like peeling back the layers of an onion, yet his layers failed to peel away easily. She was determined to do it, though. He was a challenge, and she enjoyed the game. Maybe if she could get him away to Jaipur or Jodhpur, and if she went alone, maybe he would feel less inhibited by the palace presence of Bane, Barsad, and the others. Perhaps he was more concerned with insulting them than with shocking her with an advance.

            Maysam’s cell phone on the tea table between them sounded a small chime to notify her of a text message. She frowned at the timing and almost ignored it, but she never did because of her great-grandson’s presence in her home.

            “Do you agree to stay within the palace?” Abrams pressed.

            With a sardonic smile, she reached for the phone and said, “Will my jailer at least allow me to go outside, as long as I stay within the compound?”

            A lopsided smile managed to enliven Abrams’s gaze as he got to his feet. “That’s fine. But I’ll have you watched to make sure you stick to the agreement.”

            “Just make sure I don’t notice the guards,” she teased. “At least give me the illusion of freedom on my own property.”

            Abrams gave a slight snort, followed by a brief bow of his head before turning to enter the salon. Maysam’s gaze lingered upon the rear of his military-style khaki pants. Abrams worked out every day in the gym, and it showed. She appreciated his effort.

            Maysam read Talia’s text: _Can you come to my room right away?_

            _On my way_ , Maysam quickly replied. What had Henri done now?

            When she reached Talia’s suite, she found her granddaughter pacing beside her bed where a suitcase lay, packed but still open. They were alone in the room, yet Maysam could hear Henri’s laughter from down the hallway, answered by the deep tones of Bane’s voice.

            “Where are you going?” Maysam asked, immediately worried by her granddaughter’s agitated state. “Is something wrong? You didn’t mention—”

            “It’s Bane’s idea.”

            “What is?”

            “Going away.” Talia gestured to the luggage.

            Maysam saw only one suitcase. “ _You’re_ going away?”

            “Bane thinks I should. He says I need to get away.”

            “For how long?”

            “Two weeks.”

            “By yourself?”

            “I will have protection, but, yes, just me. Bane is staying with Henri. He thinks it’ll be good for Henri to be without his mother for a while. He thinks it might help improve Henri’s behavior.”

            Maysam hesitated, collected herself. Before Bane’s last mission, he had spoken to her about Talia’s need of a break from motherhood, so Talia leaving now did not take Maysam by complete surprise, only the abruptness of it.

            “Where will you go?”

            “Chateau Blanc.”

            Maysam reached for her granddaughter’s hands to stop her from pacing. “Hafida, Haris knows what’s best for you. And I must say I agree with him. You need a break, not just from Henri but from here. You have been a caged bird for so long now.”

            “But Henri—”

            “He will put up a fuss, but he must learn independence.”

            “I don’t want him to feel abandoned.”

            “Abandoned?” Maysam tsked. “He will have me and his father, as well as Barsad and—”

            “I know, but… I mean, I know how I felt when my mother was suddenly taken from me.”

            “Hafida, it’s not the same.”

            “But to him it might be. Even after all these years, Jiddah, I remember what that felt like, how terrifying and heartbreaking it was to be with my mother one minute, then to lose her the next.”

            Maysam hugged her, the memory of her daughter’s death as painful now as it had been so many years ago. “Henri is strong. After he cries for a while, he’ll be distracted by playing with his father, and before he knows it, you will be back.” She held Talia at arm’s length, crushed by the sheen of tears in those gorgeous blue eyes, and forced a smile. “It will be hard the first couple of days for you, but then you will enjoy yourself and be glad that you went.”

            Talia frowned, but her lack of response told Maysam that her granddaughter knew she was right.

#

            Bane finished dressing Henri in cargo shorts and a gray t-shirt, and as soon as he let go of the boy, Henri bolted out of his bedroom and sprinted down the hall, calling to his mother. As quickly as he could, Bane followed.

            “Jiddah!” the boy cried in surprise.

            Maysam swept the child into her arms and smothered him with kisses, making him giggle and struggle.

            “Good morning,” Bane said.

            “Good morning, Haris.”

            “It appears Talia told you the news.”

            “Yes, and I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

            Henri paid no heed to the luggage, which now lay closed upon the bed. A suitcase signified nothing to him; when Bane left on League business, he carried only a pack. Neither did the child notice his mother’s anxiety.

            “Henri,” Bane said as he crossed the room and settled in his leather massage recliner. “Come here, son.”

            Brimming with morning energy, Henri darted across the room and into his father’s arms. Bane sat him on his lap just as Yemi rapped on the door and announced that Talia’s car awaited.

            “Go ahead, Yemi,” Bane said. “She will be down shortly.”

            “Where we going, Mama?” Henri finally acknowledged Talia’s presence.

            “Henri.” The serious tone of Bane’s voice drew the boy’s attention back. “We are going to have a little talk, you and I, so you must pay attention. Understand?”

            “Yes, Papa Baba.” Henri shot his mother one last glance before smiling at Bane.

            _He’s expecting a scolding for something and is already trying to win leniency. Well, my cub, this will not work._ Bane cleared his throat, felt Talia’s unrest, hoped she would not fight him on this, especially in front of Henri.

            “I understand that while I was away, you were a very naughty boy.”

            “Nuh-ah.”

            “Don’t ‘nuh-ah’ me, young man. I know better. I have seen the proof.”

            Henri’s smile vanished. His next tactic was false contrition, bowing his head and looking up at Bane from beneath his feathery soft, defined eyebrows.

            “I have told you before, there are consequences to our actions. When you choose to be naughty, there is a price, a punishment.”

            “Mama spank me.”

            “Yes, I know she has, many times. But it seems to do little good because you keep being naughty, don’t you?”

            Now a hint of color reddened Henri’s cheeks. “I sorry.”

            “Yes, I’m afraid you will be now, little cub. Because you have been so bad for so long, your mother is going away for a while.”

            “You come, too?”

            Bane shook his head. “I’m staying here, and so are you.”

            “Why?”

            “You have made your mother very tired and sad. She needs some time away, so she can rest and be happy again.”

            Henri began to squirm, looking to his mother, who had drawn closer and sat on the edge of the nearby sofa, her expression pained. “I go, Mama.”

            Talia started to speak, but Bane broke in before she could surrender. “No, Henri. You are staying here with me. Your mother’s car is waiting, so say good-bye.”

            Henri stared from Bane to Talia and back, as if waiting for one of them to tell him that this was merely a ploy.

            “I won’t be gone long, baby,” Talia said, her voice catching.

            “Say good-bye,” Bane said flatly, directed at both mother and son.

            “I go with Mama.”

            “No.” Bane patiently shook his head.

            The tears came then, and Henri pushed away from Bane and ran to his mother, who folded him in her arms and kissed him.

            “I go, Mama. I go.”

            Talia could no longer speak, eyes pressed shut against her tears. Maysam stood nearby, wringing her hands.

            Bane allowed Henri to cling to his mother a moment longer, then stood and said, “Your mother must go now, son. Come here.”

            “No!” Henri clutched Talia with all four limbs.

            “Bane…” Talia’s eyes pleaded with him. “You’ve made your point with him—”

            “No, my dear, he only wants you to believe that.”

            “He’s just a baby.”

            “A very wily one. Now, Henri, let go of your mother.”

            Anger in the child’s voice now. “No, Papa Baba! I go with Mama.”

            “Henri,” Maysam intervened. “Listen to your father.”

            Henri buried his face in his mother’s thick hair. “No!” He was trembling now.

            Bane stepped over and snaked one arm between the boy and Talia. No matter how Henri tried to cling to her, screaming, he was no match for Bane. Henri turned his fury on his father, kicking and punching. Bane pinned the boy so tightly against him that the blows had very little range or effect.

            “Go,” he said stolidly to Talia. “Contact me when you arrive.”

            Talia wavered, staring at Henri and wiping at the tears on her cheeks.

            “Go, habibati,” Bane said over his son’s shrieks.

            Hisham was at the door now, and Maysam let him in so he could take Talia’s suitcase. As Hisham had left, Maysam put her arm around her granddaughter’s shoulders.

            “Come now, hafida. I will go with you to the airstrip.”

            “Let Abrams know,” Bane said. “He will want to accompany you.”

            “Mama!” Henri sobbed over and over, his body vibrating with grief.

            Maysam forcibly ushered Talia from the suite.

            “Come, Jin,” Bane said calmly. “You may wave good-bye from the veranda.”

            “No! Wanna go with Mama!”

            Bane leisurely made his way to the veranda, swaying slightly in an effort to succor the boy. Once in the shade outside, he looked over the railing to see a white SUV waiting below, armed men standing around it. Hisham was putting Talia’s suitcase in the back.

            “Show your mother how brave you are, Jin. Stop your crying. Here…look down. There is her car. You will see her any minute now, and she will look up to see her. Let us dry your tears and show her a brave face.”

            “Wanna go,” Henri pouted.

            “Yes, but that is not happening, so here…” He loosened his hold on the child and turned him to ride on his hip. “Look down.”

            No longer struggling, Henri dragged his forearm across his snot-glued nose. Bane saw a light of hope spark in the boy’s eyes. Bane made sure his grip was secure in case Henri planned to jump down to his mother.

            “There she is,” Bane said.

            “Mama!” Henri cried forlornly.

            Talia looked up, wearing sunglasses and a dark mustard-colored hijab.

            “Don’t go, Mama! I be good. I promise.”

            Talia lifted her hand but words failed her.

            “Don’t go!” Henri called, tears coming fresh. He reached for the railing, but Bane kept a tight hold. “I be good!”

            Maysam gently turned Talia to the vehicle, and at last they climbed in. Abrams rushed out of the palace, appearing confused and harried. Hearing Henri’s shouts, he looked up to the veranda. Bane nodded. With a frown that reflected Abrams’s dislike for unexpected changes in Maysam’s agenda, he got into the SUV with Yemi. The closing of the door ramped up Henri’s anxiety, and his protests grew hoarse and louder. As the vehicle pulled away, the boy could no longer form words, only quivering sobs. He was too stricken to fight against his father as Bane drew him close and watched Talia’s SUV leave the courtyard in a swirl of dust.


	7. Chapter 7

            Nyssa set aside the book she was reading and watched Ra’id Tahan meander through the bazaar, making his way inevitably to her mother’s stall. He was built tall and strong, like a fortress rampart, his hair black and wavy, long but clean and kempt. There was vanity in his neatness. She had noted it when they first met during her last visit to see her mother a year ago. He had made a play for her, and she might have bitten except that she had been married at the time. Not that she had been interested in anything significant, merely a good fuck; at the time, she and her husband had been fighting regularly, so sex had gone by the wayside. She had grown hungry, and Tahan at least was easy on the eyes. A soldier of one sort or another since able to hold a gun—or so he had bragged—he had a body that would attract most women. And since yesterday, after Nyssa’s curiosity had been stirred by little Henri from the palace, she had been hoping to see Tahan. He worked for Nashir El Fadil, so he was her best hope for answers.

            When Ra’id finally reached her, Nyssa made sure she offered a sultry smile. “Ra’id Tahan wandering through a bazaar, yet he’s bought nothing.”

            He grinned straight white teeth like a wolf. “Maybe I haven’t seen anything of value…yet.”

            Nyssa removed the sheer scarf she wore about her head, one of her mother’s creations, and tossed her hair. She went through the pretense of smoothing the garment and carefully placing again. Ra’id’s dark gaze raked over her hair and face, briefly her breasts.

            “How is your mother? I heard she’s improving.”

            “She is.”

            “So you’ll be leaving soon?”

            “Not too soon. Maybe I’ll find a reason to stay a bit longer.”

            His grin widened. “Maybe I can give you one.”

            Nyssa caught the disapproving glance of the woman at the neighboring stall. She would say nothing toward Ra’id, though; she was no fool. None of the villagers ever spoke against the El Fadil family or any of the men under their employ, not if they wanted to remain alive. In return for the villagers’ seeming ignorance of what the El Fadils and their guests did for a living, they received protection, employment for many and other financial support. If one person betrayed the El Fadils to an enemy, they risked the entire village paying for that betrayal. So everyone toed the line. But Nyssa knew that loyalty wouldn’t keep the woman from later gossiping about the loose morals of Diya Panjabi’s daughter. Nyssa didn’t care about it for herself, but she didn’t want her mother hurt.

            “How is _your_ mother?” Nyssa asked Ra’id.

            His thick eyebrows rose in surprise. “How kind of you to remember her. She is well.”

            Thanks to the El Fadils, Nyssa knew. Ra’id’s father had worked for the palace for many years and had been responsible for getting his son hired as well. When he had been killed by one of his employer’s many enemies a couple of years ago, the El Fadils had given his widow a sum that would keep the woman comfortable for many years to come.

            “Is she still in Jaipur?”

            “Yes.”

            “Do you see her much?”

            “Usually once a month at least. Whatever my work allows.”

            Nyssa nodded in approval. “Still working for the palace, I hear?”

            Ra’id’s grin returned. “Checking up on me, are you? What would your husband say about that?”

            Nyssa snorted. “He’d say nothing. We’re divorced.”

            Now Ra’id’s eyes crinkled with satisfaction. He tsked sarcastically. “I am so sorry to hear that.”

            “Yeah, right. I’m not.”

            “Perhaps we should celebrate, then.”

            “You have something in mind?”

            He raked his fingers through his hair. “I can think of one or two things.”

            “Well, I have to tend to my mother’s business.”

            “During the day, yes. But not at night.” Ra’id made sure he stared at the nosy neighbor, who quickly turned away. He chuckled.

            “Are you inviting yourself over for dinner?”

            Pretending to be scandalized, Ra’id gasped. “I would never do such a thing, Nyssa. But maybe…I was thinking more like…dessert. But not with your mother.”

            “Hmm. Well, I might be able to slip out…if she’s feeling well enough, that is. But we might not be alone if it’s too early.”

            He frowned. “What do you mean?”

            Nyssa’s glance flicked down to her left. “There’s a man who’s been watching me since yesterday. But, then, you probably already knew that, didn’t you?”

            Ra’id had more sense than to immediately look in the direction she had indicated. “I know nothing about anyone watching you.”

            “Well, you must. Who else but someone from the palace would be keeping tabs on me? Maybe that’s what you’re doing with your invitation to…dessert.”

            “I assure you there was no mention of you in our morning briefing. If someone is watching you…” Something came to him, stopped him; she saw a realization in his eyes. “Well…” He squared his shoulders, swallowed. “It isn’t any of Nashir’s men.”

            “No?” She hid her surprise, for she could tell he was being honest. “Who else could it be?”

            “Perhaps someone you’ve wronged. You are still a soldier of fortune, aren’t you?”

            Nyssa shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe.” Her eyes again flicked to the man sitting in the shade of a building, pretending to doze. She wanted to ask Ra’id about Henri, but she wouldn’t do it right away. That might scare him off. She would need to give him something first before he would ever consider answering any of her questions.

            “Whoever he is, he’s either stupid or bold—he’s not even trying to blend in.”

            “Shall I go ask him his business?” Ra’id patted a pistol hidden beneath his clothes.

            “No. I’m not afraid of him. Let him have his fun for now.”

            But if Nyssa hoped to gain access to the palace, she would need to lose her tail. That meant outwaiting him tonight. If he followed the same pattern as last night, he would disappear once she was home with her mother for the evening.

            “Well,” she continued with a half-smile, “you’d better move on before my mother starts hearing terrible things about her daughter. The least you could do is buy something so it looks like you have an honorable purpose for talking to me.”

            “All right. Fair enough.” He perused the colorful array of scarves and hijabs. “Which is your favorite?”

            “Guess.”

            He narrowed his eyes in pleasure over the game. “Hmm. A bold woman like you will like bold colors. So something red, blood red. Maybe with black in it. Yes, this one here.” He picked up the item. “Am I right?”

            Nyssa wasn’t about to admit that he had indeed chosen her favorite. “I’ll tell you tonight.” She lowered her voice. “But it will have to be after Maji goes to bed.”

            “I’ll wait outside where she can’t see me.”

            They put on a good show of haggling over a price for the scarf before Ra’id left with his prize. She watched him peruse the wares of other sellers, but it was only for show, and soon he vanished from sight. The woman in the next booth gave Nyssa one last look of disapproval, accompanied by a slight shake of her head. Nyssa smiled to herself and went back to reading her book.

#

            Barsad sauntered up the stairs from the lower level of the palace, his fingers combing his damp hair after his morning swim. Thinking of Sanjana, no doubt still dozing in bed, he smiled. But the expression faded in short order when he reflected upon their troubling conversation about marriage and Maysam. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Sanjana was jealous of Maysam. Although he didn’t think she had heard anything about his past affair with Maysam, he was painfully aware of women’s intuition. Sanjana had always lacked self-confidence; how the hell could it be otherwise, considering the life she had led before they became a couple? So it shouldn’t be surprising that she might suspect a dalliance. Maybe he shouldn’t be quite so warm toward Maysam when Sanjana was around. Barsad frowned. He should probably warn Maysam about this. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings if she didn’t understand his change in behavior. Jesus, he sighed. Women!

            Once on the ground floor of the palace, he turned right, down a broad, carpeted hallway, past a formal dining room, headed for the broad, sweeping staircase near the main door. He heard a commotion and saw Yemi and one of their men hurry out the door. Instinctively Barsad grew concerned and rushed forward. Surely nothing alarming had happened; he would’ve been called.

            Reaching the foyer, he saw Abrams racing down the stairs, a scowl clouding his face. He was quietly grumbling profanities.

            “What the hell’s going on?” Barsad asked.

            Abrams didn’t break stride as he passed Barsad, muttering, “I told her, ‘Stay in the compound.’ She says, ‘Sure, sure.’ Ten minutes later she’s getting in a car. Fuck me. God damn women.”

            “Maysam? Where’s she going?” He trailed after Abrams, saw a familiar white SUV with darkly-tinted windows parked out front, Yemi climbing in.

            “Go talk to Bane,” Abrams called over his shoulder. “We can thank him for this.”

            When Abrams opened the SUV door and got in, Barsad thought he saw Talia inside, but then the door shut. He suddenly became aware of a distant, thin cry coming from somewhere outside, above him. It sounded like someone was killing a baby goat. Then he realized it was Henri, crying in a high pitch and calling for his mother. Surely the kid wasn’t alone on the veranda?

            Barsad hurried outside and looked up toward Talia and Bane’s suite. Henri was there, all right, in Bane’s arms, shrieking for his mother as the SUV headed for the gate. Cursing, Barsad sprinted back inside. Hopefully Talia and Maysam were just going on a shopping venture, but, if so, why hadn’t he been informed of it?

            When he reached Bane’s suite, he could hear Henri inside, still crying, the sound muffled. Barsad knocked urgently on the door.

            “Come in,” Bane called.

            Barsad found his commander walking slowly around the suite, a sobbing Henri in his arms. Bane moved with a gentle bounce to his step, in hopes of soothing the child, but it was doing little good. Although two years had gone by since Henri’s birth, Barsad still found the sight of his large, muscle-bound friend holding his small son amusing as well as moving, the latter even more so now that his own child was about to be born. He wondered if he would be as good a father as Bane.

            When Henri saw Barsad, hope flashed in his wet eyes, and the toddler pointed toward the veranda. “Get Mama, Unca John.”

            Henri’s flawed pronunciation of uncle usually made Barsad grin, but he found little to be amused about right now.

            “What the hell’s going on?” Barsad asked Bane.

            “Get Mama!” Henri demanded.

            “Hush, child,” Bane softly ordered. “Mama is gone.”

            This made Henri arch his back in protest and cry harder.

            “Jin, I said hush.”

            As Barsad came across the room, Henri stretched his arms toward him. “Unca John…”

            “C’mere, kid. You’ve soaked your dad, and you really need a Kleenex.”

            “Barsad,” Bane began to protest.

            “Just gimme the kid. It’s clear he’s pissed at you. Maybe I can get him to stop crying.”

            “Must I remind you to watch your language?”

            “C’mere, little monster. Let’s wipe your snot.”

            Bane hesitated, but then allowed Barsad to take the boy. Henri wrapped his arms around Barsad’s neck and buried his face against his shoulder.

            “Okay, hang on,” Barsad said. “Don’t wipe all that snot on me.” He carried the child to the sofa and sat, snatching a tissue from a decorative dispenser on the coffee table. “Here.” Pressing the tissue to Henri’s nose, he commanded, “Blow.” The boy’s attempt was half-hearted, but Barsad cleaned him up the best he could as the sobs trailed away into hiccups.

            “Want Mama,” Henri whined.

            “Where’d she go?” Barsad asked Bane. “And why didn’t I know about it? Apparently Abrams didn’t either. He’s pissed.”

            “Language,” Bane growled, sitting at the opposite end of the sofa.

            Henri pillowed his head on Barsad’s shoulder and repeated, “Want Mama, Unca John.”

            Barsad raised his eyebrows at Bane to prompt him to explain.

            “Talia’s departure was only planned last night after dinner. I didn’t want to disturb you and Sanjana, especially since your services aren’t required in this. Yemi is accompanying Talia to Chateau Blanc, and I have ordered a detail of our brothers to meet her there for security.”

            “Why Chateau Blanc?”

            “When I returned yesterday, it was quite apparent to me that Talia needs a holiday from motherhood.” He sighed. “I have been remiss, brother. Duty keeps me away too much, and the work of rearing our somewhat troublesome cub has fallen solely to her. It is wearing on her. She deserves some rest and relaxation, away from responsibility. She didn’t want to go, but in the end, I believe she saw the necessity.”

            “Maysam’s going with her?”

            “No, merely accompanying her to the airstrip. Talia was quite distraught, parting from our son, so Maysam is comforting her.”

            “Maysam agrees with her leaving?”

            “Yes. We have discussed the possibility before, as you know.”

            Barsad nodded. “How long will she be gone?”

            “A couple of weeks.”

            Barsad reared his head back so he could better see Henri’s face. “You hear that, champ? Your mom won’t be gone long. In the meantime, it’ll just be us guys, yeah? That’ll be fun. We’ll do all the things your mom tells us we can’t do.”

            “Barsad—”

            Henri sniffed back his ebbing tears. “Shoot gun?”

            “Sure! The biggest one I’ve got.”

            “Ride elephant?”

            “Well, that one’s a little tougher—no elephants at the palace. But maybe we can take you to Jaipur.”

            “Barsad—”

            “What? I’m just trying to cheer the poor kid up.”

            “Ride elephant, Papa Baba?” Henri let go of Barsad’s neck and slipped down to sit in his lap, looking hopefully at his father.

            “We can talk about that later, Jin.”

            “See?” Barsad said. “Look at those tears dry right up.”

            “Jin, tell Uncle John why Mama went away.”

            Henri’s gaze fell, and his lower lip jutted out.

            “Remember what I told you?”

            Henri hesitated before saying, “Mama sad.”

            “And why is she sad?” Bane pressed.

            “’Cause me.”

            “You?” Barsad tousled the boy’s hair. “Never.” He grinned at Bane, who remained impassive.

            “He must learn to show his mother respect. If she thinks you have learned your lesson, Jin, she will come home.”

            Barely audible, Henri mumbled, “I be good. Mama come home.”

            “Don’t worry.” Barsad gave him a squeeze and a tickle to the belly that almost pulled a smile from the child. “Your papa will miss your ma as much as you will, and he’ll have her home in no time. Just watch.”

            “You are not helping, Barsad.”

            “I think I am. Look, he’s not crying, is he? And the snot’s gone. In fact, I bet I know someone who’ll make you feel even better, little guy.” He tapped Henri’s nose.

            “Who, Unca John?”

            “Sanjana.” He stood with the boy still in his arms. “Let’s go see if her lazy bones are outta bed yet.”

            “I listen to baby?”

            “You bet.” Barsad grinned. Sanjana loved how Henri would daily press his ear to her belly and talk to the child.

            “Baby come out today?”

            Barsad chuckled. “I wish, but no, not for a while yet. After your mama comes back. She wouldn’t want to miss the birth. I was there when you were born, after all.”

            Bane stood. “Bring him back here when you and Sanjana are done cheering him up, brother.” He offered a conciliatory smile to his son. “Then you and I shall visit the gardens before the day grows too hot.”

            “Play in the water?”

            “Yes, you may splash in the fountains, but only with your hands.”

            “Yes, Papa Baba.” Then Henri whispered loudly in Barsad’s ear. “I be good.”

            Barsad grinned. “That remains to be seen.”

            Bane watched them go, smiling to himself. The mutual love between Henri and Barsad pleased him. Sanjana adored the child, too, and Bane knew she would play a vital role in helping Henri endure his mother’s absence. She would feel sorry for Henri and mother him, so Bane would need to caution her against making Henri forget the lesson behind Talia’s time away.

            “Naaji!” Bane called to the guard in the hall before Barsad could shut the door behind him.

            “Yes, sir?” The Arab stepped smartly into the doorway, a man in his early thirties and a member of the League for ten years.

            “You are relieved of duty.”

            The man frowned. “Sir?”

            “Talia will be away for a couple of weeks. During that time, I would like you and our brothers here to enjoy some downtime. Both myself and Barsad will be here and attentive enough to allow this. Two of you at a time may enjoy some relaxation outside the compound each day.”

            A surprised smile briefly dissolved Naaji’s disciplined expression. “Thank you, sir.”

            “You may go inform your brothers.”

            “Yes, sir.” Naaji hesitated, as if about to question Bane’s certainty, but of course the man knew better, and so left the suite, closing the door behind him.

            Bane stretched his back and sighed. He looked forward to a walk in the gardens to loosen his joints and muscles, and to watch his son cavort among the flowers and fountains and chase birds. He planned to keep Henri as busy as possible today to distract the boy from grief. And perhaps a trip to Jaipur was not such a bad idea. If anything would help Henri endure, it would be fulfilling his dream to ride an elephant.

            Bane’s lips twisted when he thought of Talia’s sorrow. Hopefully, once at Chateau Blanc, she would allow herself to enjoy her holiday. How he wished he could be with her. To deprive himself of her presence so soon after returning to her was like slicing himself open with a knife. But he knew he had made the right decision.

            Still, he would count the days and hours until he held her in his arms again.


	8. Chapter 8

             Bane watched Barsad with laser focus as they sparred in the gym. What Barsad lacked in physical stature he made up in quickness and cunning in a fight. Bane matched his lieutenant’s flawless footwork move for move. Sometimes Barsad danced around too much; Bane often warned him of expending unnecessary energy, but Barsad found it difficult to curb his enthusiasm when up against his commander. Of course, he never bested Bane—no one ever did—but Barsad reveled in the challenge, always making their matches interesting and worthwhile.

            “Get him, Papa Baba!” Henri squeaked excitedly.

            The boy was there in Bane’s peripheral vision, off to the right where he wriggled on the edge of a chair. Henri’s encouragement made Bane grin slightly, drawing Barsad’s annoyance.

            “Hey, kid,” Barsad panted. “You should be cheering for me. I’m the little guy here.”

            Bane’s righthand glove flashed out, catching Barsad on the cheek and making him curse. “Focus, brother,” Bane taunted good-naturedly. “And mind your language.”

            “Ha-ha-ha, Unca John!”

            They floated around the mat, jabbing, feinting, ducking, attacking, counterattacking, their bare chests glistening with sweat. Henri continued to cheer them on until he decided they were taking far too long.

            “My turn!” the boy said.

            “Patience, Jin,” Bane commanded.

            “My turn!” Henri cried more stridently, standing now.

            Bane ignored him, driving quickly in on Barsad, forcing him back toward the edge of the mat. There Barsad defended and held his ground.

            “Now, Papa Baba!” Henri demanded angrily.

            Barsad’s devilish grin goaded Bane.

            “You will not think it so amusing,” Bane growled, “when you have a child of your own.”

            Barsad faded right to avoid another blow, forcing Bane to follow.

            “My turn!” Henri shouted, his small voice echoing in the gym.

            Bane heard the child’s feet on the mat as he rushed toward them.

            “My turn!”

            Indignant, Bane started to turn before Henri could reach him. _Bam!_ Barsad’s punch snapped Bane’s head to the side. Bane glared at him.

            “Focus, brother,” Barsad mocked.

            “ _My_ turn!” Henri charged between them, flailing at Barsad. “Fight me, Unca John!”

            Bane lifted Henri off his feet to carry him back to the chair, the boy’s fists striking at the air.

            “Put down, Papa Baba! Put down!”

            Jaw tight, Bane ignored the child’s writhing attempts to break free.

            “Jin!” Bane snapped to pierce his son’s outcries. “I told you that you must sit and wait, did I not?”

            “Fight Unca John.”

            “No, not after you disobeyed me.” He sat Henri down in the chair and held him there with a hand on one shoulder and a rebuking finger near the boy’s angry face. “Patience. That is what you require.”

            “C’mon, Bane,” Barsad said. “He’s only two.”

            “Two.” Henri held up as many fingers.

            “Silence, brother,” Bane growled, never taking his eyes from Henri. “You will sit here, young man, and you will wait till I say you can get up.”

            Henri’s brow lowered, and his lips formed a petulant pout. “No, Papa Baba. I fight.”

            The child managed to shift his weight and go limp enough to slide off the chair, but he could go no farther with his father directly in front of him. Scowling, Bane swatted the seat of Henri’s shorts.

            “You will not defy me, boy.”

            Henri’s angry expression melted the minute his father spanked him. Never had Bane struck him. The shock of the moment had more effect than the spank itself. Henri’s temper tantrum dissolved into instant tears and one cry, followed by a long intake of breath during which Barsad muttered, “Oh, shit, here it comes,” before Henri’s subsequent wail nearly deafened Bane, filling the gym.

            “Your mother left because of such behavior,” Bane said, again putting Henri back in the chair. “Would you like me to leave you as well?”

            “No,” Henri warbled as the tears fell in a torrent.

            Though his son’s sorrow aggrieved Bane, he kept his tone steady. “Then you will sit here until I am done with Barsad. And if you do that and quit crying, I might consider letting you fight. But not one twitch, Henri Temujin. Understand?”

            “Yes,” Henri said, quivering. “Want Mama.”

            “You had promised to be good, remember?”

            “Yes.”

            “And we are never to break promises, are we?”

            “No.”

            “That is correct. We are honorable men. And what do honorable men say when they have done something wrong.”

            “I…” Henri hiccupped. “I sorry.”

            “Very well.” Bane let go of the child and stood. “You must learn from your mistakes, my cub.”

            Henri kept crying, but quieter. “Want Mama,” he whimpered.

            As Bane turned back to Barsad, Barsad’s gaze went from the boy to his opponent. Near a whisper, he said, “Well, that shocked the hell out of him…and me.”

            “One must do what is necessary, brother. I took no joy in it. But new tactics are called for.”

            Barsad brought his guard up, lowered his head and rounded his shoulders to make a smaller target. “I think you made an impression. You broke the poor little guy’s heart. He’s sitting there in a puddle of tears.”

            “Let us finish our work, Barsad.”

            The two continued their bout for another five minutes, but Bane’s heart was no longer in it, and Barsad landed several ringing blows.

            “You took advantage of the situation, brother,” Bane grumbled as he removed his gloves. “But that is what any wise opponent would do. Tomorrow will be a different story.”

            Barsad grinned. “We’ll see.”

            Bane turned back to his dejected son, who was no longer sobbing. Henri’s cheeks still glistened, and snot had made a mess of his lips and chin. The corners of his mouth drooped, his eyes large and sad as he looked at his father. An artful ploy that Bane refused to allow to work on his emotions as he knelt in front of his son. Using the towel from around his neck, Bane wiped the child’s face and offered a small smile of encouragement.

            “There. Much better,” Bane said. “Now, would you like to fight me?”

            Henri hesitated as if to punish his father, but his desire to participate won out, and he nodded. His wounded pride, however, kept him stoic.

            “Very well. Come.” Bane took Henri by the hand and led him to the middle of the mat where he got on his knees. “You may fight, but not out of anger. Men who fight out of anger are no more intelligent than a wounded bear. _We_ fight to sharpen our skills and our wits. Do you understand, little cub?”

            Henri nodded with lukewarm enthusiasm. Bane scowled mildly and tipped his son’s chin up.

            “I said, do you understand?”

            “Yes, Papa Baba,” Henri mumbled.

            “That’s right—you will answer your elders whenever they speak to you. There will be no sullenness and disrespect.”

            “Yes, Papa Baba.”

            “That’s my boy. Now, let us begin.”

            “Kick his butt, Henri,” Barsad said, sitting in the chair Henri had vacated.

            The boy offered a half-hearted punch against his father’s raised hands.

            “C’mon,” Barsad urged. “Is that all you got, kid? Let him have it. Move your feet. Try to get behind him. There you go. Keep going. Hit him harder now. Both fists. Bam, bam! That’s it.”

            Barsad kept coaching as Henri’s confidence returned. At first Bane thwarted him, hoping to stir the boy’s spirit. Then, as Henri came to life and began to enjoy himself, Bane allowed more of his son’s blows to strike him in the chest and arms, even a few to the face, which succeeded in making the child smile again. By the end of their match, Henri was laughing in triumph. Bane grabbed him in a bear hug, as if to keep from being outmatched, and they tumbled together to the mat. Henri tried to break free but surrendered to giggles, causing his father to chuckle.

            Watching them, Barsad couldn’t contain a smile. Easily he remembered his early years with Bane, years of few laughs or smiles from his commander. Barsad had always tried in his brotherly way to prompt levity from Bane, but it had often been a chore. Even now, when away from Talia and Henri, Bane could still be on the dour side, but the darkness would retreat whenever he reunited with his family. So, at times like these, Barsad enjoyed witnessing Bane’s pure happiness. _God knows he has a lifetime of happiness to make up_.

            Barsad stood from his chair and pulled a white t-shirt over his head. “All right, you two. I’m heading upstairs for a shower. I’ll see you later.”

            At the door, looking back, he saw Henri sitting triumphantly on his father’s broad chest, laughing as if the earlier trauma had never occurred. Barsad grinned and shook his head before stepping into the hallway.

            Still distracted, he nearly bumped into Maysam who was coming down the hallway. Red-faced, he apologized.

            “Well,” she said with a smile, “it sounds like my great-grandson is enjoying his time with his father.”

            “If you’d walked by a few minutes ago, you wouldn’t have thought so.”

            “Oh, no.”

            “Yeah. Henri had a bit of a meltdown, and Bane actually spanked the little guy.”

            Maysam gasped. “That poor baby. It must have broken his heart.”

            “Yeah, you’d have thought the world had ended, but he’s okay now. He and Bane are wrestling.”

            “Good.”

            “You know, I think Bane forgets that kid is only two. He expects him to be rational and focused. Those things aren’t usually in a two-year-old’s repertoire.”

            “Yes, he does have high expectations for his son. But don’t you think that is better than the alternative?”

            “Of course, but I still think he goes a bit overboard, like Henri’s in training for the League or something.”

            “Well, in some ways he is, don’t you think? I mean, considering his parents.”

            “Sure. I guess I’m just worried Bane won’t let the kid be a kid, you know?”

            Maysam chuckled. “You’re forgetting that Henri has a great-grandmother to spoil him and let him be a child.”

            “That’s true.” Barsad waggled his eyebrows as he teased, “Maybe you’re the reason Henri’s so unruly.”

            “That comes from his parents, John.”

            They shared a laugh.

            Barsad glanced along the lengthy corridor. “What are you doing down here anyway? Were you looking for one of us?”

            “No, actually. I was on my way to meet with the chef to discuss this week’s menu.”

            Besides the gym and swimming pool, the lower level of the palace contained the kitchen as well as the living quarters for servants and the rooms that housed both Nashir’s security force and Bane’s men.

            “Do you think,” Barsad said, “after you’re done, we could chat for a minute in private? I need your help with something.”

            “Of course. I’ll meet you in the salon in half an hour.”

            “Great. Thanks.”

            Maysam started to turn away but paused with a smile that warmed Barsad. “And, John, I think it’s sweet how concerned you are about Henri. Don’t hesitate to say to Bane what you’ve just said to me. You keep him balanced in everything else. He will respect your opinion.” A hint of wistfulness faded her smile a bit. “You will make a wonderful father.”

            Few people could make Barsad blush, but Maysam was one of them.

            “Let’s hope so,” he managed before turning in the opposite direction.

#

            The salon was an intimate space, smaller than other rooms on Maysam’s floor. The décor was deep reds and golds, with scarlet and white Persian rugs trimmed in black, and vases filled always with fragrant flowers from the gardens or greenhouse. The heavy velvet drapery over the single window was now halfway open to allow in the afternoon sunlight, filtered through a gauzy white sheer.

            When Maysam’s husband had been alive, he had allowed her perfect privacy here. It was only for her and those she deigned to allow in. After Siddig had banished Melisande to the pit prison, Maysam had spent countless hours in here by herself, sobbing. She had even slept on the couch for the first several nights afterwards, until her husband demanded that she return to his bed in the suite that Bane and Talia now inhabited.

            Sipping tea and waiting for Barsad, Maysam smiled and chuckled low in her throat as she remembered the time she and Barsad had made love in this room. Although her husband was in Egypt at the time, it was still a dangerous risk they had taken. But that danger had served to heighten their passion that night. Maysam’s smile, however, faded as quickly as it had come when she thought of Barsad making love to Sanjana.

            It was foolish to be jealous of the girl, Maysam knew, but she could not help occasional flares of resentment. Feminine pride and competitiveness pushed her to wonder if Barsad ever compared her lovemaking to Sanjana’s, and whose did he find more satisfying? Maysam scoffed at herself.

            “Stupid old woman,” she muttered and blew on the hot tea in her cup.

            Sanjana was a beautiful girl. If Maysam had known that Barsad would end up living at the palace once again, she may have considered a less attractive servant than Sanjana. True, she had hired the girl mainly as a kindness to Hisham, yet she had, after all, needed a new servant of her own after the previous one had been disposed of for indiscretions related to security issues with the El Fadil family. Still, perhaps she should have put Sanjana to work in the kitchen instead of taking her on as her personal servant.

            Maysam sighed with lingering regret. Yes, she had no one to blame but herself for Barsad’s relationship with Sanjana. The first night he had returned to live at the palace after leaving the League’s desert base in Saudi Arabia, she had ordered Sanjana to his room. Maysam had wanted to give Barsad a welcoming gift, and it had also been her way of testing the girl’s loyalty and obedience right away, for she had only just hired Sanjana the week before. No sense keeping her around long if she could not do the difficult things. Yet how difficult could it be to sleep with John Barsad? The way Maysam looked at it at the time, she had been doing the girl a favor, for who else would ever want her after being sullied by the brother of her ex-fiancé?

            “Oh, John,” Maysam sighed and shook her head as she remembered his rejection of her gift and his explanation: “It just wouldn’t seem right for me to be whoring around right down the hall from you.”

            It had made her love him even more. Such an honorable man. It had always been one of the traits that most attracted Maysam to him. She was not stupid enough to believe that Barsad had not slept with other women after they had broken up, but the fact that he refused to do so under her roof had filled her with pride. Of course she had not anticipated Barsad falling in love with Sanjana, but she did appreciate over these past years how he never displayed overt physical affection for the girl in front of her.

            Nearly three years ago, the arrival of Aaron Abrams and later the birth of her great-grandson had distracted Maysam from dwelling on the relationship between her servant and her former lover. But there had still been private moments, usually after seeing Barsad and Sanjana walking through the gardens hand in hand or quietly talking close during a shared evening get-together with the others, that Maysam felt a prick of jealousy and antipathy, times when she considered letting it slip in her servant’s presence that she and Barsad had been lovers. But she blamed the vindictiveness on loneliness, a loneliness she had never felt before Barsad’s interest in Sanjana. And then she would scoff at herself for being weak.

            Maysam was unsure when her interest in Abrams had formed. At first, she thought it was simply the result of her sadness about Barsad, and so tried to dismiss it. But she found herself watching Abrams closely when he was unaware of her scrutiny, noticing that he was a handsome man beneath his cragginess and gruffness. True, he lacked Barsad’s sharp wit and liveliness, but Abrams had other qualities—honesty, loyalty, a quirky sense of humor, a quiet strength…and that intriguing mystery of his past and what had formed him prior to the horrors of the pit prison. She found herself wanting to heal him, yet how could she heal him when she had no idea what truly ailed him? And he refused to allow her to get close enough to find out, though she sensed that a part of him longed for intimacy.

            She and Barsad had never discussed her attraction to Abrams. True, Barsad teased her from time to time, but she dismissed it. She could tell, beneath the teasing, that Barsad was encouraging her to pursue Abrams, and she loved him for his ability to read her loneliness without her ever having to shame herself by voicing it to him.

            A gentle knock on the salon door pulled Maysam from her thoughts. She set down her cup and saucer.

            “Come in.”

            Barsad entered, dressed in a fresh white t-shirt and jeans, his hair damp from a hasty shower after his workout. How she would love to watch him and Bane sparring, but of course that would be inappropriate for a woman. Maybe, she considered, when Henri was in the gym, it would be acceptable for her to sit with him, to take charge of him while his father worked.

            She stood and smiled at Barsad as he crossed the room. His return smile was strained and brief, his eyelids looking heavier than usual.

            “Is something wrong?” Maysam asked. “You look troubled. Is Sanjana all right?”

            “Yes. She’s taking a nap. She didn’t even wake up when I came out of the shower.” He absently rubbed his hands against the hips.

            “Sit down. Would you like some tea? It’s fresh.”

            “No, thanks.”

            Maysam had a feeling from his slight frown that he wished for something stronger than tea. She expected him to sit on the opposite end of the long couch from where she settled, but instead he sat in the chair farthest from her. Something leaden seemed to roll around in her stomach.

            “What is it, John? You said you needed my help with something.”

            “Yeah, I do.” Instead of relaxing back into the chair, he sat on the edge, slowly rubbing his hands together. He cleared his throat. “It’s about Sanjana. Well, you and her.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Well…you know how awkward she feels around you; I mean, in a social setting.”

            “She is a bit timid, yes, but that’s understandable since I am her employer. It’s a strange balance for her, I’m sure.”

            “Yeah, but…it’s not just that. I mean, the worker/employee thing. It’s something else.”

            Maysam’s eyes widened with dread. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

            “About us? Oh, hell, no. I mean, it’s not like I’m ashamed or anything, but as a woman I’m sure you understand why I’d never say anything to her about it.”

            “Of course.” Maysam relaxed. Her blood chilled at the thought of Sanjana inadvertently speaking to one of the El Fadil servants about her affair with Barsad. Nashir might overlook it since it was so long ago and because of the warm relationship he had with her, but the rest of the family would not, and she would be thrown out of the palace. She was too old to suddenly be uprooted.

            “But sometimes I think she suspects something happened between you and me,” Barsad continued. “You know, women’s intuition. I think that’s the main reason why she feels uneasy.”

            “Surely she’s not jealous of an old woman like me.”

            “I wish you’d stop calling yourself old. You aren’t.” Barsad sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying to think of ways to put her at ease.”

            “Perhaps if she were no longer under my employ. I’ve been managing with Hisham. I could continue to use him, or I could hire a girl from the village.”

            “I’ve asked her about that, and I think once the baby is born she’ll probably agree. But, as you know, when she stopped working because of the pregnancy, she didn’t feel right about living here for free, especially when I’m away. It’s a matter of honor. Because of her background, she doesn’t feel like she belongs in a palace.”

            “She is the mother of your child. There is nowhere else she should be than here in your home.”

            “I agree, of course, but she thinks we should move away.”

            Maysam sat up straight. “What?”

            “Don’t worry; I don’t plan to do that. You know I’ll be here as long as Bane is.”

            “As you should.” Maysam tried to keep anger out of her voice. The very thought of Barsad going elsewhere to live wounded her. How dare that girl try to take him away from them, from her?

            “Sanjana says she feels insignificant. I don’t want her feeling that way. I feel like I’m responsible somehow, so I want to find a solution. Unfortunately I’ve only come up with one.”

            “What is it?”

            He frowned and spoke softer. “I think maybe I shouldn’t spend as much…social time with you, alone, I mean. Like this.”

            Maysam’s indignation flared again, tightening her lips, but she fought to keep Barsad from detecting it. “I see.”  
            Barsad’s shoulders slumped. “It’s not what I want, but…”

            Maysam forced herself to remain calm. “Why don’t you let me talk to her? I can assure her—”

            “She’s too intimidated by you. And, if she does think something happened between you and me, I doubt she’ll believe what you say. I need to be able to _show_ her that I’m devoted to her. She thinks you’re more important to me than she is. Of course you know I don’t quantify my relationship with you that way. You’re both important to me, but in different ways. Sanjana can only imagine one way.”

            Though she knew she should remain on the couch, Maysam moved to sit on the coffee table in front of Barsad. She took his hands in hers and offered an understanding smile. Her touch increased the anxiety in his blue eyes, and she knew she had to put aside her selfishness and petty jealousy and help him. If not for Barsad, she would never have survived the loss of her daughter. She would do anything for him.

            “John,” she murmured. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

            He smiled sadly and drew her hands to his lips, kissed them, then let her go. “I’m sorry, Maysam. I am.”

            “Just tell me.”

            Barsad hesitated, his frown deepening, his eyes wandering the room before returning to her. “At least for a time…I’ll just see you when you invite us to eat together, or if it’s all of us together—with Bane and Talia, I mean—for something social. And if Sanjana doesn’t want to come, I’ll decline the invitation. Will that be okay?”

            “Of course.” Her heart wept as she nodded.

            “And once the baby comes…let’s just wait till Sanjana asks for your help. I hope she does, and I think she will, at least after a while when she’s feeling more confident. And you don’t need to buy anything for the baby.”

            “Oh, John…”

            “Or if you do, you can always have me give it to Sanjana, like I bought it. I’ll know it came from you.” He offered a small, conciliatory smile.

            Maysam had so looked forward to cuddling and caring for another infant. She had hoped against hope that Talia would become pregnant again, but she was still waiting. And the way Henri was testing Talia, Maysam feared he would be her last great-grandchild.

            “Very well, John,” she said, struggling to return his smile. “I will give the gifts to you.”

            “Thanks.” Barsad reclaimed her cold hands. “This won’t be for long, I’m sure. Once the baby is born, Sanjana will be so overwhelmed, she won’t have time to worry about crazy things like this. She’ll need your help with the baby when I’m away, and I think she’ll realize how nuts all this is. She’ll feel more comfortable and appreciate you.”

            Maysam nodded without confidence. “I hope so.” And though she tried to stop herself, she said, “I shall miss you.”

            “Oh, don’t say that. I’ll be here. We’ll still see plenty of each other.” He grinned. “Besides, you have Abrams to distract you.”

            “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

            “Really? You’re gonna pull that on me?” He chuckled. “How long have we known each other? You can’t fool me.”

            She stood and turned away to hide her blush. “Aaron Abrams has no interest in me.”

            “Don’t be too sure of that. Any intelligent man would have an interest in you. Are you saying Abrams is a fool?”

            Maysam returned to the couch and took up her teacup to hide her appreciative smile. “I don’t know what he is except a closed book, and he refuses to open it to anyone.”

            “Don’t worry; he’ll break in time. I can work on him, if you’d like.”

            “You’ll do no such thing, John Barsad.”

            He chuckled and stood. “Henri has his heart set on riding an elephant in Jaipur. Maybe you can go with him and Bane, and bring your head of security.” Barsad winked. “You could all stay overnight.”

            “My head of security has confined me to the palace compound.”

            “Fat lot of good that did this morning when Talia went to the airstrip,” he laughed. “Trust me, Maysam, if you want to go to Jaipur with Bane, Abrams won’t be able to stop you. I know you.”

            “Well,” she considered, taking a sip of tea, “what better protection could I have than Haris?”

            “True, but there’s no way Abrams will let you go without him, even if the whole League went with you, especially with his paranoia about this Nyssa woman.”

            “Hmm. You are probably right. He is a stubborn one.” She took another drink then stood. “I _have_ been wanting to go to Jaipur to pick up some things for the baby.” She caught herself. “For Henri, I mean.”

            Barsad chuckled again as he offered his arm to her and they ambled toward the door. There they paused, facing one another. She wished he would never leave.

            “Thanks for being so understanding, Maysam.”

            “No thanks necessary, habibi. If I were in Sanjana’s shoes, I wouldn’t want any other woman near you either.” She smiled playfully.

            He chuckled again then leaned down to kiss her lips, lingering for just a moment, long enough for her to lay her hand against his cheek. At the feel of his warm skin beneath her fingers, her heart filled, and she knew she needed to send him on his way before her tears took hold.

            “I’ll see you later,” Barsad murmured, the usual twinkle in his eyes tempered by something close to sadness.

            “Yes,” Maysam whispered and stepped back before he opened the door and left her.


	9. Chapter 9

            Nyssa tried to pay attention to the old romance novel she was reading, something her mother had bought years ago and had stored in a box with other books—some fiction, some non-fiction. Her mother sat at the other end of the sagging sofa, squinting as she embroidered one of her scarves, occasionally glancing at a British sitcom on the television, chuckling at the program’s absurdities.

            “You shouldn’t stay up so late, Maji,” Nyssa chided. “You’re feeling better, but you should still get plenty of sleep.”

            Her mother glanced knowingly at her before concentrating again on her needlework. “You can’t fool me, betee. I know why you want me to go to bed, and it has nothing to do with sleep…for either of us.”

            Though Nyssa realized the gossip from the bazaar had reached her mother, stubbornness kept her from conceding. “I’m just concerned about you, Maji. You still look a bit pale.”

            Her mother dismissively waved her hand. “You want me in bed so you can sneak off with Ra’id Tahan.”

            Nyssa feigned surprise. “I’m not going to sneak off anywhere.”

            “I may be old, Nyssa, but I’m no fool; don’t try to make me one.”

            “Maji…” Nyssa’s words died. There was no fooling her mother. She might as well own up to it. Well, at least some of it. “Okay, fine. Yes, I’m planning on seeing Ra’id tonight.”

            Her mother set aside her needlework. “ _Seeing_ him? I’m also not naïve, betee.”

            Nyssa shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t have any plans. We just got talking in the bazaar today and thought we’d see each other. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d jump to conclusions.”

            “Are you trying to tell me my conclusions are wrong?” She muted the television.

            “Yes. I mean, I don’t know. I’d just planned on talking.”

            “Well, Ra’id has more planned than that. Look at him. A good-looking man like that with no wife. If he was worth anything, he’d quit living off the El Fadil teat and become something more respectable.”

            “I’m not looking for a husband, Maji. I’ve had enough of husbands.”

            “Then what are you looking for?” Her eyes narrowed, and Nyssa had to look away in the pretense of setting her book aside. “Trouble. That is what my daughter is looking for.”

            “Can’t a girl just have some fun?” She tried to sound unappreciated. “I think I deserve it by now.”

            “Fun is not what you will find with Ra’id. And it’s not all you’re looking for, is it? Your curiosity about that little boy from the palace is going to get you killed. Is that what you want for me?”

            “Little boy? Ra’id is no little boy.”

            “Don’t be coy with me; you know I’m talking about the child, Henri, who came to the bazaar with Maysam El Fadil. Leave that alone before you get us both in trouble.”

            Nyssa tried a softening smile. “Maji, you know I’d never put you in danger.”

            “You may think you aren’t, but I know the palace better than you, remember. And I know men like Ra’id.”

            “Really, Maji, I’m not a little girl anymore. I can handle myself. I’ve killed men, you know.”

            Her mother grabbed up the scarf to anxiously wad it. “I know what your work is, Nyssa, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it or excuse it.”

            “What I’m saying is that I can handle men like Ra’id.”

            “I’d rather not find out if that’s true. Stay away from him and the palace. That place has brought us nothing but misery.”

            “Maji.” Nyssa decided upon another tactic. “Don’t you get lonely, all these years without a man? I do. I’m afraid I don’t have the morals you do. I’d like to have a little fun now that I’m back on my own again.” She reached for her mother’s arm. “I’ll be careful.” With a winning smile, she leaned closer and added, “I promise.”

            “I can see you aren’t going to listen to me. Very well. Far be it from me to see my daughter ‘lonely.’ Go about your business with Ra’id, but promise me you won’t talk to him about that little boy. And promise me the whole village won’t know about my daughter’s loose morals.”

            Nyssa kissed her mother’s cheek and grinned, but no smile came back, only a dark look. “I’ll be discreet, Maji.”

            “Humph.” She picked up her needle again. “You have your father’s willfulness. I never should have allowed that man into my bed. I’m still paying for it to this day.” Then she begrudged a tiny smile and sidelong glance to assure Nyssa of her love and thankfulness to have her.

#

            The ringtone buzzed on the other end of the line as Bane waited impatiently for Talia to answer. Beside him on the sofa, Henri knelt, dressed in pajamas, staring intently at the phone as if commanding his mother to pick up. He bit his lower lip as he squirmed, fingers kneading his father’s thigh.

            “Mama,” he whispered in anticipation.

            Bane offered him a smile of reassurance and absently smoothed his son’s cowlick.

            “Hello,” the beloved voice finally answered.

            “Hello, habibati.”

            “Mama!” Henri cried.

            Bane held up a shushing finger. “I hope we are not interrupting anything.”

            “No,” Talia said, “I’m just reading. I’m a bit sleepy from the time change.”

            “Yes, it will take you a couple of days to adjust. But nothing should press you. Lounge by the pool and do nothing but relax, my dear. Everything was in order when you arrived, I take it? Our brothers awaited you?”

            “Yes, but I really don’t think a detail is necessary here. Yemi is enough.”

            “I beg to differ, and I refuse to debate this.”

            “Of course you do,” she said with a hint of amusement. “How is Henri?”

            “He is right here, eager to speak with you. But first I must tell you that he received a spanking today.”

            “No, Papa Baba; secret.” Henri sank back in disappointment, chewing his lip harder now.

            “ _You_ spanked him?”

            “Yes. He was being disobedient and obtrusive while Barsad and I were sparring.”

            “Oh, Haris,” she said, avoiding the use of his true name, as they always did with one another while on the telephone. “You must have broken his heart. Is he okay?”

            “Of course he is.”

            “Don’t be too hard on him these first couple of days. He’s never had to endure this separation before. And it was so abrupt.”

            “All to good purpose, my dear. Don’t worry about our cub. I think he has learned a valuable lesson. Haven’t you, son?”

            Henri nodded and spoke loud enough for Talia to hear, “I be good.”

            “Let me speak to him.”

            “Very well. Let me put you on speaker.” Bane pressed the button. “Talk to your mother, Jin.”

            The boy’s face lit up, and he pushed close to the phone in Bane’s hand. “Mama!”

            “Hello, my sweet boy. How are you?”

            “Come home, Mama.”

            “In a few days. Your papa told me you were a bad boy today.”

            “I sorry. I fight. Beat up Papa Baba.”

            “You did?”

            “Yes. Unca John told me to.”

            Talia laughed. “Sounds like Uncle John. Did you win?”

            “Yes.”

            “Good boy. You will be a great fighter, like your father.”

            “You come home, Mama?”

            “Soon, baby. Now tell me what you did today with your papa.”

            Henri clambered into Bane’s lap and settled against him, keeping his face close to the phone. “Go to garden; play hide and seek. Went swimming. Papa Baba gonna let me ride elephant.”

            “An elephant?” Concern pitched her voice. “A real elephant?”

            “Yes! Tomorrow.”

            “Haris?”

            “Don’t worry, habibati. We are just going to Jaipur for overnight. I will take him to the Amber Fort and teach him some history.”

            “Oh, Haris. I wish you wouldn’t.”

            “Our son has been wishing for this since he could talk. I think it will be a productive father/son outing.”

            “Is John going with you?”

            “I would never ask him to leave Sanjana at this time. And I insist you not ask him either, habibati. I will take two of our men, and I think your mother will be coming, too, so that means Abrams will be along as well.” Bane chuckled. “Of course he will be displeased about leaving the palace because of his concerns over that Nyssa woman. But we will make sure Davos will continue his surveillance of her. If she tries to follow us, he will move in and seize her. But no doubt she will be staying here with her mother.”

            “Don’t discount Abrams’s intuition.”

            “Never, my love.”

            “I ride elephant, Mama,” Henri grinned.

            “You must be careful, sweetheart. Elephants are much larger than the ones at the palace gates.”

            “I not scared.”

            “Of course you aren’t, but you must be careful all the same. Promise me.”

            “I promise.” His grin never faded as he gave his father a reckless look.

            “Haris, please think twice about this. Maybe wait until I return. We can go as a family.”

            “By the time you return, it will be close to Sanjana’s time, and we will all remain close to home. And I would like Henri and I to do something special together.”

            “I understand, but—”

            “I will keep my face covered.”

            “You are a huge white man, Haris, in a country of small, dark people. Even with your face covered, you will stand out.”

            “I will not linger in public places.”

            “The Amber Fort? There will be tourists as well as locals there.”

            “You must trust me, my dear.”

            Talia made a small, worried sound.

            “Now, tell us about your day, habibati, and let us not squabble over Henri’s adventure.”

            By the time Talia had related her flight to France and how she had spent the day touring the vineyards with Chateau Blanc’s vigneron, a strident knock sounded at Bane’s door. Expecting Hisham, he was surprised to see Abrams answer his invitation to enter. The plum color shading Abrams’s cheeks revealed his anger over something. Bane had a good guess exactly what that was.

            “Unca Aaron’s here, Mama,” Henri announced.

            “Should I let you go, Haris?”

            “Oh,” Abrams said, coming to an abrupt halt just inside the door. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Sorry. I can come back.”

            “That won’t be necessary,” Bane said, setting the phone down on the coffee table in front of him. “Habibati, Henri will keep you company while I speak to Abrams, if you don’t mind.”

            “Is something wrong?”

            Bane grinned. “I’m sure it’s nothing worse than your grandmother vexing him again.”

            Talia chuckled. “Probably.”

            Bane sat Henri in front of the phone, then stood, beckoning for Abrams to follow him to the far side of the room. There, Bane sat in his desk chair and motioned Abrams to another chair.

            “There’s no guard outside your door,” Abrams said, frowning with concern.

            “No. Nor will there be until Talia returns. It’s time my men had some relaxation. With myself and Barsad both here, there’s little need for them in such a close capacity.”

            Abrams gave him a skeptical side glance before muttering, “If you say so. It seems security has flown out the window on all levels around here today.”

            “I’m assuming Maysam has told you of her plans to accompany me and Henri to Jaipur tomorrow.”

            “Yeah. And I’m assuming when you told her you were going, she didn’t bother to tell you how she had earlier agreed to stay inside the compound until that Nyssa woman is gone.”

            “She did mention it, actually. And when she did, I told her that she should always listen to her head of security.”

            “Obviously she doesn’t listen to you any better than she does to me.”

            “She has her heart set on seeing Henri’s dream of riding an elephant come true. What great-grandmother wouldn’t want to witness that?”

            “One with some sense in her head. We need to take this Nyssa woman seriously. She’s a killer, Bane.”

            “I do take her very seriously. But I also trust you and your men to handle her. It is my faith in you and your forces that allows me confidence in our travels tomorrow.”

            Abrams sat up a bit straighter, his square jaw set with pride. But that pride failed to remove the storminess from his brow. “She said we’ll be staying overnight.”

            “That is correct. It is too long of a journey by car to make the trip there and back in one day.”

            “Well, at least promise me we won’t be there any longer than that.”

            “You have my word.”

            Abrams studied him with skepticism.

            “We will stay at our League safe house,” Bane said. A hint of a smile played in the corners of his lips. “Perhaps you should share Maysam’s room to ensure her safety.”

            “Christ, Bane. You sound like Barsad.”

            “Our brother is on the right path.”

            “Yeah? Well, I think you’re both full of shit, so drop it.” Abrams got to his feet. “I came here in the hopes of changing your mind about letting Maysam go with you, but I can see I’m wasting my time.”

            “Indeed you are.” Bane smiled indulgently.

            “Does Talia know about this craziness?”

            “Yes.”

            “I bet she feels the same way I do.”

            “Perhaps.”

            “Shit.” Abrams shook his head and started for the door.

            “Good night, Abrams,” Bane called, then chuckled at the man’s mutterings before he left the suite. Bane returned to Henri. “That’s enough, Jin. We must let your mother go now so you can take a bath.”

            “No bath,” Henri whined.

            Bane sat on the sofa and swept his son into his lap, squeezing him back against his chest, drawing further protests and squirms.

            “Henri,” Talia scolded. “Listen to your father.”

            The boy whimpered and went limp in surrender.

            “Say good night to your mother.”

            “Come home, Mama.”

            “Soon, baby.”

            “Jin…”

            “I sleep with Papa Baba.”

            “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Talia said. “He will tell you a story and make you feel safe.”

            “Jin,” Bane growled.

            Henri whined again before relenting. “Night-night, Mama.”

            “Good night, baby. I love you.”

            “Love you, too.”

            “Be good for your father, and we’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

            “Okay, Mama.”

            “You can tell me all about your adventure with the elephants.”

            Henri clapped his hands and laughed.

            Bane picked up the phone and took it off speaker. “Good night, my love. Get some rest, and enjoy yourself.”

            “Please be careful, Haris. Call me when you get to Jaipur.”

            “As you wish.”

#

            Nyssa had warned Ra’id that she would not see him until late, after her mother—and most of the village—had gone to bed. She half expected the man not to wait for her, but there he stood in the night, a couple of doors down, out of sight of her mother’s home. The glow of a full moon illuminated his cocky grin.

            “Took you long enough,” he chided.

            “You know what they say, Ra’id—good things are worth waiting for.” She drew one of her mother’s handmade dupattas close around her shoulders, its dark gray cotton draped over her head in an attempt to hide her identity from prying eyes.

            He chuckled and kissed her. When she returned his ardor, he put his arms around her and kissed her deeper, tongue probing.

            Nyssa pulled back. “Not here.”

            Ra’id glanced at his watch. “We can go to my place, but not for another ten minutes. Have to wait for them to change the guards at the gate. The two who are coming on won’t give me any shit about bringing you inside the palace. I’ve done the same for them.”

            “The palace?” Nyssa did her best to hide her excitement at the prospect; this was more promising than she had expected. “Won’t Nashir be pissed?”

            “As long as his men are discreet, he looks the other way. Now, Amir was another story. No way could I bring a woman to my room. He had one guy castrated who did that.”

            Nyssa leaned against the corner of the building, a bakery that was closed. Ra’id relaxed against it as well, close to her. He smelled clean, freshly showered.

            “So,” she said, “did they ever find out who killed Amir?”

            “No. Still a mystery. Professionally done, though; not some crazy villager with a grudge.”

            Nyssa shrugged one shoulder. “Live by the sword, die by the sword, right?”

            “We should know,” he grinned. “Or are you out of the business now?”

            “Girl’s gotta eat.”

            Ra’id nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe you could come work for Nashir. I could put in a good word. He doesn’t use any females for security, of course—his wife wouldn’t approve of that, especially a beautiful female,” he winked, “but he does use female operatives in the field.”

            “I prefer to free-lance, Ra’id.”

            “Still, huh?” He shrugged. “Well, it was worth a try.”

            So many questions pushed at Nyssa, begging for her to ask, about Maysam and that little boy. But all she needed to do was remain patient. Soon she would be inside the palace, and if she could slip away from Ra’id after he fell asleep, she might be able to get some answers without tipping her hand to him.

            After a few more minutes of chitchat, they started through the narrow, dusty streets toward the palace. Nyssa kept the dupatta close, concerned that the man who had been watching her all day was still lurking somewhere in the shadows. If he was, surely he would never let her enter the palace. That is, if he was indeed under palace orders and not someone connected to her line of work beyond her mother’s village. She nearly asked Ra’id if he had made inquiries at the palace about the mysterious man, but she feared spooking him and taking his mind off his lust. She needed him completely distracted, and so she slipped a hand into his pants pocket as they walked along, passing no one except an occasional dog or cat slinking in the alleys. Traditional Indian music played from one house, and now and then voices were heard in conversation from open windows, but other than that the village had settled down for the night.

            Soon the pale walls of the palace loomed alongside them, and light from the main gate bronzed the pair of stone elephants and the two men standing guard. Years of training and practice in the field allowed Nyssa to betray no physical reaction, no unease or excitement.

            “Don’t say anything,” Ra’id murmured close to her ear.

            “You sure this is a good idea?”

            “Well, we can’t go to your mother’s, can we?” He chuckled.

            Nyssa drew the dupatta even closer, veiling all but her eyes.

            At the gate, Ra’id exchanged only a couple of words with the guards. The two men’s predatory gazes raked her over, lewd grins flashing from dark beards.

            “Where did you find this one, Ra’id? She’s not fat like the last two.”

            “I’ll keep that a secret, brother,” Ra’id said. “You know I don’t like to share.”

            They all chuckled lewdly, then Ra’id put an arm around Nyssa and quickly ushered her through the gate.

            The palace loomed above Nyssa. She felt its presence as much as saw it. There was something foreboding about the building that she did not feel during the day when the sun shone on its bright walls. Now most of the windows were dark. She counted the floors, found the one that Maysam occupied. That was where Henri would be, and that was where she would find her answers, though she truly had no idea why she felt so confident about this. This could be a fool’s errand, and she could very well get herself killed in a most unpleasant way by the El Fadils. Yet she couldn’t shake the odd feeling she had had since seeing Maysam and Henri, especially when she considered the man who had been shadowing her since then. If there was nothing to discover, then why would Maysam have her watched? If it was indeed one of her men…

            As expected, Ra’id avoided the palace’s main door. Two more guards there. Ra’id waved to them in acknowledgement before turning right and ushering Nyssa to a side entrance. There, he punched in a four-digit code on a keypad to unlock the door. Stepping inside, Nyssa was faced with a dimly lit, unadorned corridor that appeared to stretch the length of the building. No surveillance cameras that she could see. She guessed the kitchen was somewhere down the deserted corridor, for she could detect a very faint whiff of a long-ago meal having been cooked. And buried in that scent was a hint of chlorine. She remembered hearing about the Olympic-sized swimming pool when she was a girl. On broiling hot days, she would sit in the shade of her home, close her eyes, and imagine swimming, though at the time she didn’t even know how.

            Ra’id gestured for quiet as they headed down the hallway. Music—rock n’ roll—played from behind one closed door, a man’s voice quietly singing along. From another came the blare of a television, and from yet another, several men speaking in rapid Arabic. Judging from their words, they were playing cards. Nyssa kept the dupatta close in case one of those men stepped from his room. She didn’t want to run into whomever it was that had been surveilling her.

            At last they came to Ra’id’s room and hurried inside. The space was cramped with only a single window, one which was small and set high, for this level of the palace was partially below ground. Its subterranean quality gave it a coolness, though a gentle flow of air conditioning also blew from a vent. The room was without character, furnished only with a full-sized bed, a tiny table with two chairs next to a small refrigerator, and a television stand with a thirty-two-inch flat panel. No bathroom. The men probably shared one down the hall.

            “Care for a drink?” Ra’id asked as Nyssa tossed the dupatta over one of the chairs.

            “Sure.” She hoped her companion had plenty to drink; she needed him to sleep deeply tonight.

            He produced two bottles of German beer from the refrigerator and popped the caps before bringing them to the table. Sitting across from Nyssa, Ra’id tipped back the bottle, his attention never leaving her.

            “What shall we talk about?” he asked.

            Nyssa offered a sultry smile. “Did we really come here to talk?”

            Ra’id grinned. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

            “Don’t make me laugh,” she said, doing just that. “We’re not the romantic type.”

            “Fair enough.” He took another long drink. “But let’s finish these while they’re cold.”

            Nyssa gave him a challenging look. “Very well.” Then she raised the bottle to her lips and proceeded to drink the bottle dry. Not to be outdone, Ra’id did the same, and they raced to see who would finish first. Nyssa, with a slight head start, won. They broke into laughter, then Ra’id took her face in his hands and kissed her wet mouth.

            The kiss grew passionate, Ra’id’s fingers threading through her hair, his scent filling Nyssa’s senses, firing her. They nearly knocked the table over, breaking apart only long enough to start stripping off clothes. There would be time for more alcohol later to lull her lover to sleep. For now, she would give him what he wanted; she would wear him out completely, then seal the deal with another round or two of drinks. She had a purpose, a mission, yet there was no harm in enjoying herself first.

#

            Ra’id’s stamina proved greater than Nyssa had expected, even after several beers. He nearly outlasted her, but finally, deep in the night, he drifted off into heavy snores. She cursed herself for drinking so much. Sleep called to her, pulling at her heavy lids, but she fought against it as she lay beside Ra’id, waiting for him to slip even deeper into sleep. She would have one chance. If he woke up and found her gone, he would never bring her back here. And Nyssa knew she might need to return to find answers.

            After half an hour of impatient immobility, Nyssa extricated herself from the bed, halting every couple of seconds to make sure Ra’id remained asleep. Then she carefully pulled her clothes on, again pausing often to make sure she was undetected. Ra’id’s snores grew louder as the alcohol did its work well. Nyssa smiled to herself and tiptoed to the door.

            Only a couple of dim hall fixtures, distantly spaced, lit the deserted corridor. She started in the direction of the kitchen, expecting to find stairs or an elevator. Wanting to move as silently as possible, she was barefoot, the cement beneath her feet chilly, jolting away her veil of fatigue. She slipped past several closed doors, the smell of chlorine rising as she neared then passed the swimming pool’s door. Keeping to the shadows, Nyssa listened for any late-night insomniac but heard no one, as if she were the only person in the entire palace.

            Soon she came to a stairwell and an elevator. She debated for only a moment on which to take. There could be cameras in either place, but on the elevator, there would be only one, no doubt in the control panel. Her dupatta would shield her face, and she hoped that if there was a camera, whoever was supposed to be watching was too tired to pay much attention.

            Within minutes, she was on Maysam’s floor. As the elevator doors opened, she steeled herself for a confrontation but relaxed when she found the carpeted hallway empty, stretching away to either side of her. After the elevator doors had closed off the light, she turned right and edged along the near wall, barely breathing, heart drumming in her ears. Excitement motivated her and overpowered any fear. Coming to the first door, she listened for movement within. Nothing. Ever so slowly she opened the door and crept inside.

            Nyssa remained just inside the door, blending with the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust. A hint of light came in from an adjoining veranda, helped her to see her surroundings. A modest-sized room. She frowned. If she didn’t know better, it appeared she was in a hospital room. There was what looked to be a hospital bed pushed against the far wall, neglected. An IV pole and other medical equipment were clustered in a corner beyond the bed. The space had the scent of disuse. Though she wondered why the palace had such a room, especially on Maysam’s floor, she retreated to the hall, knowing none of the answers she sought were in this room.

            Once she had closed the door silently behind her, something caught her eye and froze her to the spot—a sliver of light beneath a door across the hallway, about seven meters away. When had that light come on? She couldn’t remember seeing it before she had gone into the hospital-like room. Had she been detected? Should she hurry back to the elevator?

            Then the voice of a child reached her, coming from that room. Her breath caught. A boy’s voice. Familiar. She drifted toward the door, paused there to crouch low and listen.

            “Want Mama,” the child said, sounding as if he was crying.

            “Mama’s not here, Henri. Remember?”

            The man’s voice startled Nyssa. She had expected a woman’s voice, probably Maysam’s. And she had expected to hear Arabic in this household, not English. Had there been an accent? She pressed her ear to the door, blood racing.

            “You had a bad dream, little one. Let me cover you back up. I’ll leave the light on until you fall back asleep.”

            “Promise, Papa Baba?”

            “Yes.”

            “When Mama come home?”

            “In a few days, Jin. Now hush and try to sleep.”

            The man had a distinctive voice, one with a very slight English flavor, annunciating each word clearly. Not an El Fadil, then. But who?

            The steel of a gun barrel pressed against the back of Nyssa’s head, freezing her. Her heart dropped.

            A voice as cold as the pistol said, “Don’t move.”


	10. Chapter 10

            “Show me your hands,” the man with the pistol growled, his English tinged with a Greek accent.

            In those first seconds after Nyssa had felt the barrel press against her skull, several things flew through her mind. First, she wondered how the hell the man had snuck up on her without her detection. Sure, the hallway was carpeted, but normally that wouldn’t have foiled her. Second, she considered trying to disarm him but just as quickly decided against it. The El Fadils employed only the best men; he would be expecting resistance, even if she was a woman in a dupatta. And, finally, she wanted nothing more than to know who was with Henri on the other side of the door in front of her; if she overpowered this man and fled, she might never get her answers. So she remained frozen in place, lifting her hands in surrender.

            The man backed away. “Turn around. Slowly. Stay on your knees.”

            As she obeyed, he switched on the tactical light affixed to his handgun, blinding her.

            “Sir,” he raised his voice. “It’s Davos. We have a situation out here. I’ve apprehended an intruder.” To Nyssa, he said, “Move away from the door,” then maneuvered between it and his prisoner. “You have signed your own death warrant, woman.”

            A moment later, the door opened and the largest man she had ever seen stood on the threshold. The tactical light blazing in her eyes, as well as the room lights silhouetting him, robbed her of detecting anything other than his height.

            When the newcomer spoke, it was with incongruous calm but also with a faint hint of anger. “Is this the woman you have been surveilling?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “How has she ended up at my very door?”

            Another door opened, this one a short distance further down the hallway, on the opposite side. A man wearing only dark boxer shorts glided toward her in a defensive posture, aiming a Glock at her. He had a sinewy build, coiled and ready for action. The light from her captor’s gun reflected in a sniper’s eye—diamond-sharp, unblinking, frigid.

            “What the hell is this?” the sniper asked.

            “It would appear,” the big man rumbled with that deadly equanimity, “Davos has allowed the subject of his surveillance to make her way to my door. I was just asking him how this occurred.”

            “One of Nashir’s men brought her to his room. I allowed it, knowing she would tip her hand if she was really up to something, like Abrams expected. Obviously we were right. Rest assured, sir, I would never have allowed her to have gotten any farther.”

            “Search her for weapons, brother,” the big man said to the sniper. “You may stop blinding her now, Davos.”

            “But, sir, she will see your face—”

            “It is of no consequence. She will be dead soon.”

            “Hello, doll lady.” Henri’s bright voice surprised everyone just as Davos switched off his weapon’s light.

            In the instant before the big man snatched the boy out of sight beyond the door, Nyssa recognized the child from the bazaar. Dressed in Spiderman pajamas, Henri smiled at her, broad and innocent, as if her presence there was expected and the guns aimed at her nonexistent.

            “Shit,” the sniper muttered as Henri’s protests receded deeper into the large room.

            “It’s the doll lady, Papa Baba!”

            “Hush, boy. Did I not tell you to stay in the bathroom?”

            “But, why? I don’t hafta go potty.”

            Nyssa heard a door close somewhere in the room. But then a new voice, coming from down to her right, captured her attention as the hallway lights flashed on. A middle-aged man hurried toward them, also armed with a pistol, his graying hair wild from sleep. Barefooted, he wore a belted burgundy robe and a scowl on his craggy, hare-lipped face.

            “What the hell is this?” he demanded, voice gravelly.

            The sniper never looked away from Nyssa as he answered, “It appears you were right about our pretty friend here.”

            “How the fuck did she end up here, Davos?”

            Before Davos could answer, the big man had returned to the doorway, providing Nyssa with her first real look at him, and what she saw stunned her. Those eyes, coupled with his great size and muscle-bound physique, dressed in a tight white tank top and loose, drawstring pants…no one who had ever seen him would forget him, and though the absence of his horrible mask might mislead some, she was not one of them. All those months he had occupied Gotham, his face had been plastered on television screens every day, all around the world. No matter where Nyssa was, she had seen that face time and time again, that face with those intense, restless dark eyes that rarely blinked, that exuded charisma. As a mercenary, she could easily understand why men followed him. He had that rare quality of visionary leadership.

            She remembered several months before the Gotham siege had begun, when word had been sifting through the mercenary networks that someone powerful was building an army. She had considered answering the call, mainly out of curiosity, but also because it was said this powerful man had the ability to pay well. But she had been entangled in a prior commitment at the time that she could not back out of, not if she valued her life. Then when the occupation had happened, she figured Bane was the one behind the previous job opportunity, and a part of her wished she had found a way to be included in his ranks, if for nothing else than the crazy audacity of it all. The man’s boldness and self-confidence, his florid speeches, and frightening sexiness captured her attention and held it for five months. Her husband had not approved.

            Now here she was, staring into the eyes of Gotham’s Reckoning. And he was father to a boy with Talia’s eyes. If Bane had survived, why couldn’t have Talia? Wasn’t Henri proof? Was she in this very palace?

            Davos never got the chance to answer the hare-lip’s question, for Bane took over.

            “Abrams, I want you to take Henri to Maysam’s room. Stay with them until Barsad or I come to you.”

            Barsad! The sniper. Of course! Nyssa studied the scruffy face with its deceptively-sleepy eyes of ice blue. Still with Bane. Such loyalty. It would be the same with all his men. How could it be otherwise with someone as magnetic? To see Bane on television was one thing, but being in his presence gave Nyssa a whole new perspective. He was both terrifying and mesmerizing all at once. And though it was obvious he had had reconstructive surgery on his face, the fading scars left behind by the surgeon’s knife failed to detract from his astoundingly attractive features.

            “Take Sanjana with you, Abrams,” Barsad said.

            “Davos,” Bane said. “Alert my men and Abrams’s. Have them sweep the palace and the compound. And tell Nashir I want to talk to his man, the one she slept with.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Barsad, search this woman for weapons, then take her to the infirmary. I will be there shortly.”

#

            “What’re you gonna do with her?” Abrams asked from where he stood just inside Bane’s suite.

            When Bane opened the bathroom door to free his son, Henri bolted into his arms.

            “Papa Baba!”

            Bane hoisted him onto his hip.

            “Where’s the doll lady?”

            “She had to leave.”

            “Why?”

            “That’s not important. What’s important is that you go with Uncle Abrams for now. He’s taking you to sleep with Jiddah.”

            “Wanna sleep with you.”

            “I’ll come get you shortly. But I want you to try to sleep while you are waiting for me.”

            “Where you go?”

            “I’m going to see our lady friend off.”

            “I come?”

            “No. I just told you—Abrams is taking you to Jiddah.”

            “Wanna go with you.”

            Bane’s jaw tightened, revealing some of his tension, and Henri seemed to sense the need for obedience, for the questions stopped. He allowed Bane to hand him to Abrams, who had tucked his pistol into the pocket of his robe.

            “Do not forget Sanjana,” Bane said. “Do your best to keep the women calm. I will not be long.”

            “I’m sorry about Davos,” Abrams grumbled. “How the hell he let that woman—”

            “His plan had merit. He allowed her to tip her hand, and now this will come to a quick end.”

            “Let’s hope so.”

            Bane followed Abrams and Henri back into the hallway, then headed to the room that had served as an infirmary. It was there that he had recuperated from his life-threatening injuries suffered at the end of the Gotham siege, and it was also where his son had been born, and where Barsad’s child would be birthed as well.

            When he stepped inside the infirmary, he found Nyssa in a wooden chair, her hands bound behind her with cloth strips torn from her dupatta. Her seeming lack of fear struck him and warned him that she must indeed be skilled. Barsad stood near, vigilant and rumpled, looking particularly displeased by being awakened.

            Bane loomed over Nyssa, waited for her to flinch or show some other sign of trepidation, but she remained staring at him as if looking for an answer to some question. She was a beautiful woman, with a dark complexion that came from her breeding, not simply from the harsh Rajasthan sun. Slightly slanted chocolate eyes matched her long hair. Her pert nose and well-shaped lips reminded him of Talia.

            “Who do you work for?” Bane asked.

            “No one, not right now anyway.”

            “I will caution you against lying to us. We know who your mother is, and we will not hesitate to punish her unless you are compliant.”

            Now a hint of emotion but more anger than fear in the tightening of her squarish jaw.

            “If you work for no one,” Bane continued, “then what business does an unemployed mercenary have skulking about this palace?”

            “I’ll answer your question, but first you have to answer one of my own.”

            Barsad said, “No one’s asking questions here but us, sister.”

            Bane held up a hand toward his lieutenant. “I will indulge her, brother, but only for a moment.” Normally he would have agreed with Barsad, but there was something intriguing about this woman. She had a bold gleam in her eyes that he had only seen in one other woman. “Ask your question, and be quick about it, woman.”

            “That boy in your room… Is Talia his mother?”

            Every muscle in Bane’s body went rigid. Out of the vast range of questions he had expected to hear, this had not been one of them. His first instinct was to kill this woman; his twitching fingers ached to do it. But he immediately stilled his telltale tic, knew Nyssa had noted it. The confidence in her eyes spoke of her superior training; not League level, but formidable nonetheless. She knew such a blunt question so soon in this dance would take him completely off-guard and shake him to his core, and it had succeeded.

            The moment Nyssa asked the question, Bane felt Barsad’s own shock, like an electric charge arcing between them. For only an instant, Barsad’s gaze flashed at him before returning to their prisoner. Then the sniper took one step and placed the muzzle of the pistol against Nyssa’s temple. Still the woman refused to flinch, her analyzing stare never leaving Bane.

            “Henri has Talia’s eyes,” Nyssa continued. “Such a sweet child. Intelligent beyond his age, too.”

            The Glock pressed even harder, causing her head to tilt slightly. Barsad was waiting for the word from his commander.

            “Is she here? I’m guessing not, otherwise she’d probably be in this room with us. She is your boss, after all; at least she was in Gotham. Did you see the tabloids after Gotham? All the speculation about your relationship with her. I must admit, I read them. Beauty and the beast. Headlines like that.”

            Bane tried to keep from clenching his jaw. He measured out the words, “Why are you here?”

            “Uh-uh-uh,” she chided in a singsong voice. “I told you I would only answer your question if you answered mine, and you haven’t.”

            “This isn’t a game, bitch,” Barsad growled.

            “You won’t pull that trigger,” Nyssa smoothly said. “Not without your boss’s permission.”

            “Surely you know we have ways to extract information from you,” Bane said. “The choice is yours—die quickly now or die painfully later.”

            “If you’re going to kill me one way or the other, what harm is there in answering my question? There’s really no need for unpleasantries. I’ll tell you everything you want to know right now, but only if you answer my question.”

            “Don’t believe her,” Barsad said. “She’ll just lie.”

            “Lies won’t get me what I want,” Nyssa said with a scornful glance at Barsad. “I would’ve just come to the palace in broad daylight to ask you my questions, but I knew I’d never get past the gate, and no one would ever confirm the presence of Gotham’s Reckoning, of course.”

            Her knowledge of his identity, even without the mask, failed to surprise him, but it did alarm him to think that, if someone had indeed hired her, they might somehow know he lived. Or was her mission simply to ascertain that?

            “So I came into the palace this way,” Nyssa continued, “to find out on my own. And don’t be too hard on stupid Ra’id; he was just thinking with his dick. Men are so easily manipulated by even the slimmest hope of getting laid.” She grinned slightly at Bane. “Is that what Talia did to you? It appears it worked, for both of you.”

            Bane’s desire to snap this insolent woman’s neck surged again. But why was she baiting him when she knew what he could do to her? It was that mystery that stayed his hand.

            “Perhaps,” Bane rumbled, “you have read one too many tabloids.”

            “I said I read them; doesn’t mean I believed them.”

            “And what is it you do believe?”

            She hesitated only a moment. “I believe that boy in your room is your son, and Talia is the mother. It’s easy enough to see the resemblance to both of you. I heard you talking to him through the door, comforting him in bed. Only a father would do that.”

            “And if your speculation were true, what would that mean to you? If you wish harm to the child, I can assure you that will never happen.”

            “I’m not here for the boy. He was just a breadcrumb that led me here.”

            Barsad muttered, “My trigger finger is getting itchy, brother.”

            Bane waited for Nyssa’s answer to his question, but she raised an arched eyebrow to remind him of her terms.

            “You say you work for no one,” Bane said. “Then why are you here? Some strange fan of the League, are you? Perhaps you wish to join us?”

            “You’re getting warmer. Just answer my question and I’ll tell you.”

            Bane hesitated. The woman was right—there was no danger in revealing Talia to her, for she would be dead soon; he would kill her himself. No sense in prolonging this play. He needed to allay Maysam’s fears. No doubt she was beside herself with concern for Henri’s safety. And causing anxiety for Sanjana was dangerous at this stage of her pregnancy. That would be another factor behind Barsad’s eagerness to end this interrogation.

            “I will confirm your suspicions,” Bane said. “Talia is Henri’s mother. And now you will answer my questions. Why are you here?”

            Nyssa’s eyes widened slightly at his revelation, and for a moment she seemed unable to speak. But she recovered quickly. “You asked me if I wanted to join the League.”

            “No women are allowed in our ranks.”

            “I aspire to something higher than being in the rank and file. Something I’m entitled to by birth.”

            Barsad had eased the muzzle of his pistol away from Nyssa’s temple and now glanced at Bane in bemusement.

            “Speak plainly, woman. You waste my time with these games.”

            A slow smile spread Nyssa’s lips. “The eldest offspring of Rā’s al Ghūl claims rights to the Demon Head.”

            Something cold drifted down Bane’s spine.

            “There is no ‘eldest’ offspring,” Barsad said. “Talia is his only child.”

            Nyssa almost laughed. “Do you really think someone like Henri Ducard impregnated only one woman in his lifetime?” She eyed him. “How many little Barsads are running around Gotham right now?” She scoffed. “You know the story of Henri Ducard after he met Melisande. But obviously you don’t know the story before he met her.”

            Bane’s fingers twitched with the desire to silence this woman, but if what she was intimating was true, he needed to know all.

            “Why don’t you enlighten us?” Bane said coldly, crossing his arms.

            “I’d be happy to. I’ve waited a long time. But Talia will want to hear it. Why don’t I wait for her?”

            “I will relay your tale, if I feel it relevant.”

            “Oh, it’s relevant, all right, big guy. You can even call it life-changing.”

            “Get on with it,” Barsad grumbled.

            Nyssa studied Barsad. “You know, after Gotham, some of the villagers whispered that the Masked Man’s second-in-command was the same man who was once in charge of Siddig El Fadil’s security. Of course they’d never speak of it to any outsiders because they knew that could prove fatal for them. Your being here now…well, maybe those rumors were true. The El Fadils owe you maybe, so they let you hide out here.”

            “I’d advise you,” Bane said, “not to antagonize Barsad. He can be quite surly, as you can see, when his rest has been rudely disturbed.”

            Nyssa flashed Barsad a brief grin before turning back to Bane. “When Henri Ducard worked for Siddig El Fadil, he would come to the village, just as Ra’id Tahan does, and seek out female company. After all, what woman could safely refuse someone from the palace?”

            “So,” Barsad said cynically, “you’re accusing Rā’s al Ghūl of rape?”

            “No. Well, he may have forced himself on someone, but if he did, no one spoke of it. No, he had a reputation for being morally superior to Siddig’s other men. Maybe that’s why she foolishly fell in love with him.”

            “Who?” Barsad asked.

            Nyssa’s stare grew sharp, thrusting into Bane’s eyes like a dagger. “My mother.”

            Bane never looked away from her, even as the chill spread through him, like the cruel winds that used to howl around his old mountain home. Again, he felt Barsad’s searching gaze.

            “My mother had no husband, and her parents had both died. She was desperate for money but didn’t want to be a whore. He noticed her, though; she was a pretty girl.” Nyssa shrugged. “Maybe he felt sorry for her because of her situation and the gossip in the village about her not having a husband. So he started coming around, talking to her, flattering her. She fell for him, and eventually he got what he wanted—a good fuck. He was probably mooning over Melisande the whole time. Once those two hooked up, he never came around again. When my mother found out she was pregnant, she tried to get word to him, but who knows if the men at the palace gate ever told him? They just laughed at her. It wasn’t much later that my mother heard of his exile.” Nyssa scowled. “Money came shortly after that. Maybe it came from him. Maybe it came from the palace. More came, enough to sustain my mother and then me. Eventually the money stopped, but by then my mother had learned to make her own way.”

            Nyssa’s eyes had grown black with resentment. Bane remembered looking into a mirror years ago, after his own exile, after Henri Ducard had discarded him, as he had discarded Diya Panjabi, and he had seen the same resentment on his own face.

            “When I was older, I met a man from the palace, too, just like my mother did. He was my escape from here. We left together. He promised me adventure and a whole new world. He trained me. You can imagine what his price was. I did what it took to survive and learn, to thrive and to support my mother. Later I met my husband among the ranks of mercenaries.” She shrugged one shoulder, trying to portray indifference, but Bane read pain, not a deep pain, but pain nonetheless, the pain of being cast-off…again. “He’s gone now, and I came back to take care of my sick mother. And then I saw Maysam with that little boy. You can imagine how intrigued I was those years ago when I learned that I had a younger sister, so when I saw Henri and his big blue eyes…well, something just clicked.”

            Bane turned away from her, needing to break her stare so he could think clearly. Slowly he walked toward the door, paused there, tapped a finger against his lips.

            “Can I shoot her now, brother?”

            “If you don’t believe who I say I am,” Nyssa said without urgency, “have a DNA test done.”

            Bane turned back toward her. “And if such a test proves your lineage, then what? You think you will become Demon Head of the League?”

            “It’s my birthright.”

            Barsad laughed harshly. “You think joining the League is as simple as that? You may have skills, but you don’t have our skills. Talia was trained by her father, groomed and honed for years before she took over after his death. Bane, let’s just kill her and end this bullshit.”

            “No, brother. I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” Bane drew near to Nyssa again. Now the gleam in her eyes reflected triumph. How many years had she waited for this moment? “We will indeed have her DNA tested. Then we will know for sure if this is a fairy tale or not. I will send Abrams to you. Do what is necessary, then have a room prepared downstairs for her. Assign two of our brothers to guard her.”

            Nyssa scowled. “I want to see Talia.”

            Bane started for the door. “If you are who you claim to be, perhaps I will grant your request. But that decision is not mine to make. For now, you will be our guest.”

            “Prisoner, you mean.”

            “Call it what you like. Be thankful you are alive.”

            “At least get word to my mother that I’m all right. She’ll be worried. She’s not well.”

            “See to it, Barsad.”


	11. Chapter 11

            In her living room, Maysam rocked Henri in a comfortable chair, hiding her roiling emotions and concerns. The boy had been chattering a short while about the doll lady and Uncle Barsad in his underwear with his gun, but his words had slowed and finally ended as he drifted to sleep in her warm embrace.

            Wearing a robe and slippers, Sanjana sat in a chair to her left, chewing her fingernails, gaze lost somewhere across the room.

            “Aaron,” Maysam softly called. “Please sit down.”

            “What’s taking him so long?” Abrams muttered from near the door leading to the corridor.

            “Sit down so you don’t wake Henri with your pacing.”

            Abrams obeyed, sitting on the sofa across from her, gun still in hand.

            “I knew there wasn’t something right about her,” Abrams said. “I should have done something right away.”

            “Aaron, you can’t just kill everyone you think might be a threat. You did the right thing by having Nyssa surveilled. Now she is out in the open and in our hands. I must say, though, I do feel bad for her mother; I know what it feels like to lose a daughter. That girl is Diya Panjabi’s only family. She’s helped Diya financially over the years, so there is at least that in the girl’s favor. I must insist that Haris provides some sort of monetary compensation for Diya’s loss. I can’t imagine she knew anything about her daughter’s plans, whatever they may be.”

            “What could this Nyssa woman want?” Abrams pondered. “She took a huge risk coming here tonight. Was she after you or Henri?”

            “Why would she want to hurt Henri? No one knows who is he. If they did, we would have more to worry about than one mercenary.”

            “That’s just it—what if she’s just the tip of the iceberg? We need to find out who she’s working for.”

            “I’m sure that is what is taking Haris this long. He will extract every bit of intel from her before…” Maysam frowned and smoothed Henri’s cowlick, kissed the top of his head. Her embrace tightened at the thought of someone wishing harm upon the child. As much as she would regret Diya Panjabi’s loss, nothing could compare to her own grief if harm came to her great-grandson. Her wrath would know no bounds, no one would be spared, just as the prisoners of the pit had been killed by Rā’s al Ghūl after he and Maysam had learned of Melisande’s rape and murder there. Maysam had demanded the slaughter, and he had readily agreed.

            A knock at the door, followed by Bane’s voice, “Abrams?”

            Maysam sighed with relief. Though she felt safe with Abrams, no man alive could offer the feeling of complete security like Bane.

            Abrams hurried to let him in, but before he could ask anything, Bane said, “Barsad is awaiting your assistance in the infirmary. He will brief you. Go. I will stay with Maysam until my brothers report that they have completed their sweep of the grounds.”  
            Reluctant to leave, Abrams glanced back at Maysam, for ultimately his orders came from her. She nodded, and he rushed out the door.

            Bane crossed the room, moving with amazing silence for such a large man, determined not to disturb his son’s slumber. The couch protested his bulk as he sat. Sanjana shifted her weight, her attention glued to Bane.

            “Have you disposed of her?” Maysam quietly asked.

            “I fear that is not an option at this time.”

            “What do you mean? Is she withholding information?”

            “No, she was quite forthcoming, actually.”

            “What did she say?”

            Bane sighed, running his fingers through his short hair. “Nothing that is yet verified.”

            “What do you mean?” Maysam forced herself to be patient, to remain calm for Henri’s sake, though Bane’s hesitation drew her nerves to the breaking point.

            “When Talia’s father worked for your husband, did you know of him being involved with a woman from the village?”

            The subject of Henri Ducard took her by surprise, caused her to falter as she searched her memory. “I…I didn’t know of anyone. But Siddig’s men did spend leisure time in the village when they were off duty. I suppose my son-in-law was no different, at least until he fell in love with Melisande. Why?”

            “This Nyssa claims that he is her father, that he slept with Diya Panjabi.”

            Sanjana gave a small gasp. “She’s Talia’s sister?”

            Speechless, Maysam stared at Bane.

            “She suspected Henri’s lineage after seeing him with you in the bazaar,” Bane continued. “To investigate, she got into the palace under the guise of paramour for one of Nashir’s men. It appears she wants to lay claim to the title of Demon Head as her birthright.”

            “But, if she’s telling the truth,” Maysam stammered, “why now?”

            “I’m not sure. She wants to meet Talia. Perhaps her true reasons will be revealed then.”

            “You can’t let them meet, Haris.” With a glance at Henri, she sharply whispered, “Kill her.”

            “That is not my decision to make alone. I must discuss this with Talia.”

            “How do you know Nyssa’s not lying?”

            “We will conduct a DNA test. If it proves her false, then I will end her myself. But if she speaks the truth, Talia must be informed. It is only right.”

            “How long will it take to get the test results?”

            “A day or two.”

            “What will you do with her in the meantime? She can’t be allowed to leave.”

            “We will hold her here, in a room downstairs. My men will guard her. There is no need to worry.”

            Maysam glanced at Sanjana’s pale, anxious face. Perhaps the girl should not be hearing all of this, considering her advanced pregnancy.

            “Does she know that Talia no longer leads the League?” Maysam asked.

            “It appears she does not. That in itself is encouraging; it shows that her intel is limited, hopefully limited only to what she has successfully guessed from Henri’s appearance and presence here at the palace with his great-grandmother.”

            “If the DNA proves she’s Talia’s half-sister,” Sanjana softly said, “will she really have claim to the League’s leadership? She must be a little older than Talia, if we are to believe her story. Wouldn’t that give her rights over Talia?”

            “It would indeed,” Bane said.

            “But she is not initiated,” Maysam protested. “She’s simply a mercenary. She’s not qualified to lead—”

            “One can always be trained, and I believe she has it in her to pass initiation. She would automatically supersede me since I have no blood claim to the position.”

            “But Talia appointed you, and the League ratified her decision,” Maysam insisted.

            “Blood would supersede that as well.”

            “Talia must not allow this.”

            “It will be her decision…and the League’s. Our brothers will have to be informed.”

            “You must convince her to get rid of this usurper. Nyssa can’t be trusted. Regardless of her claim on the Demon Head, she is an outsider who now knows that you and Talia survived Gotham.”

            “And John as well,” Sanjana said. “Bane, please. I know I have no say in this, but please listen to Maysam. Maybe it would be best if Talia never knows about this Nyssa.”

            “I understand your concerns, ladies, but I cannot deceive Talia. If Nyssa is her half-sister, she has a right to know, and so does the League. Our brothers revere the memory of Talia’s father. They will insist on proper succession, should Nyssa prove able to pass training and initiation. If we were to conceal this and our deception was discovered, it would be catastrophic. Our brothers would have the right to exile us or even to execute me.”

            Sanjana went back to chewing her fingernails, though little was left of them. Her other hand rested on her distended belly, as if to protect Barsad’s child. Maysam tried not to be distracted by the memory of her recent conversation with Barsad.

            “If she’s so determined to lead the League,” Maysam said, “what if she sees Henri as a future threat to her position? She might try to kill him.” Maysam hoped this line of thinking would spur Bane on to execute Nyssa and end all of this.

            “I believe her when she says she has no desire to harm Henri. Even if she considers his eventual rise, that is years down the road, and as the daughter of Rā’s al Ghūl, she would have rights to the Demon Head over a grandson.”

            Maysam made a small, frustrated sound.

            “You must not worry, ladies. Be assured Talia will make the right decision, as will I and our brothers.”

            “When will you tell her?” Maysam asked.

            “We will await the DNA results. Let Talia enjoy her time away. She would rush back here immediately, if she knew.”

            “She will be angry with you for not telling her right away,” Maysam warned.

            “Indeed. But, for now, I am in charge of this situation. While we await the results, we will continue with our daily plans, as will Talia.”

            “You can’t mean to still go to Jaipur,” Sanjana said, struggling to sit forward in her chair.

            “I made a promise to my son. I plan on keeping that promise, my dear.”

            “Oh, Haris,” Maysam said. “It could be even more dangerous now for you to leave the palace. We don’t know who might be behind Nyssa’s plans.”

            “My instincts tell me that she is here for the reasons she has revealed. I will have my men talk to Diya Panjabi. She will be easier to extract information from than her daughter, especially if she fears for her child’s safety, which she will.”

            “She’s recovering from illness.”

            “Indeed. All the more reason to speak with her now, while she is both physically and emotionally vulnerable.”

            “I hope you will have no need to harm her.”

            “That is my wish as well. But we must do whatever is necessary to ensure the safety of everyone here.”

            Maysam nodded, then forced herself to turn to Sanjana. “Haris is right. We shouldn’t worry. He will protect us.”

            Sanjana tried to smile, nodded once.

            “Why don’t you lie down, my dear?” Bane said to the young woman. “Barsad will be busy for a while. You should sleep.”

            “Use my bed,” Maysam offered. “I’ll put Henri down with you.”

            Sanjana’s eyelashes fluttered in surprise. “Thank you. But I don’t think I can sleep.”

            “Nonsense,” Bane said. “Maysam, let me carry that sleepy cub to your room.”

            “Where will you sleep?” Sanjana asked.

            “I will stay up with Haris. I can sleep on the way to Jaipur.”

#

            Not long after Abrams had left Maysam’s suite, Hisham appeared at the door to tell Bane that Nashir wanted to see him. Bane sent Hisham away with the message that he would oblige Nashir as soon as he felt it safe to leave the women. Abrams returned some time later to report that the palace and compound had been thoroughly searched and all video surveillance reviewed, revealing no other intruders. When Sanjana retreated to her room, Maysam took her place in bed with Henri, who thankfully slept on. After putting on a shirt over his tank top, Bane headed downstairs to Nashir’s suite.

            He met the eldest El Fadil in what passed as a den, a windowless interior room with an abundance of rosewood furniture, handsome and highly polished—a large desk, an entertainment center, and several book shelves. Nashir never invited Bane to any other room. This space was for men conducting business. Though their relationship had never been warm because of the danger Bane’s presence posed to the El Fadil family, Nashir did respect Bane, unlike Amir, and they had never quarreled. Grateful for Nashir allowing him to call the palace home, Bane always did his best to show the man deference in return.

            Tall and slim, Nashir was somewhere around Abrams’s age but looked younger than Abrams. Though not as handsome as his deceased older brothers had been, he had the same thick, raven-colored hair that, even now, had very little gray. As he gestured for Bane to sit in a leather chair, his mahogany gaze never left his guest.

            “Would you like something to drink?”

            “No, thank you.”

            Nashir nodded and settled into a matching black chair across the rug from his guest. He wore a maroon velvet robe with a dark gray satin belt and matching slippers, and though Bane knew he had recently been asleep, Nashir had taken the time to comb his hair. When he was younger, he had spent several years in the Indian army before attending university in Saudi Arabia. Those years had made him a disciplined, intelligent man, one less prone to fits of passion like Siddig or Amir. Sometimes Bane wondered what Melisande’s fate would have been if Maysam had married Nashir instead of Siddig. Perhaps Melisande would never have been banished to the pit.

            “I’m sorry this disturbance has interrupted your sleep, Nashir.”

            “How is my sister-in-law?”

            “You know Maysam. She is unflappable,” Bane said proudly.

            “I have been told it was one of my men who brought the woman into the palace.”

            “Ra’id Tahan.”

            “Yes. I have sent for him. He should be here any minute.”

            “The woman claims he had no knowledge of her intentions other than sex.”

            “Nonetheless, he knows the only women I allow my men to fraternize with are those who live in the village. We have control over them. This mercenary you apprehended is an outsider.”

            “Her mother lives in the village.”

            “Yes. Diya Panjabi has never given us any trouble. I highly doubt she had any idea what her daughter was up to.”

            “My men will ascertain that. Two of them are on their way to her home now. I instructed them not to physically harm her. Fear for her daughter’s safety will be motivation enough.”

            “I understand the mercenary told you of her reason for coming here.”

            “Yes.” Bane hesitated. “She is claiming Rā’s al Ghūl to be her father, and because of that, she wants to claim leadership of the League. That is why I have yet to dispatch her. If she truly is Talia’s half-sister, then I feel Talia has the right to know. If a DNA test proves her false, then I shall kill her.”

            “And do you believe she is telling the truth?”

            “My gut instinct tells me she is. Otherwise, why risk what she has risked, including her mother’s life?”

            “You will let her assume the title?”

            “I will leave that up to Talia. I have no blood claim on my position.”

            Nashir thoughtfully stroked his close-cropped beard, a line of concern between his thick eyebrows. “Bane. You know how I and my family feel about you residing here. If this Nyssa woman is allowed to live, she may betray your presence, and that could have dire consequences for me, my family and my family’s business operations.”

            “Of course, I understand. I know it’s only because of Maysam that I and my men are allowed to be here. Is it more compensation you desire?”

            “No, that’s not what I’m getting at. I would just like you to consider eliminating this woman, regardless of her heritage.”

            “I would prefer to do just that. However, I feel it is Talia’s right to know if she has a sister, and it is equally her right to decide Nyssa’s fate. I may advise, but ultimately the decision is hers.”

            “Then I’m afraid I will have to ask you, Talia, and your men to leave the palace should Talia decide to let the mercenary live. We cannot be connected. And I cannot trust Nyssa.”

            “You will break Maysam’s heart.”

            “Then perhaps the two of us can convince her to leave with you.”

            Bane paused. “I understand your concerns, Nashir, and I will certainly honor your request in exchange for allowing us to live here these past three years. It is Maysam I am concerned about. This has been her home nearly her entire life, and it is particularly difficult for the aged to make such a drastic change. You would also be sending her away from her nieces and nephews, whom she is very fond of.”

            “You and I both know Maysam is not a fragile old woman, Bane, and, yes, she does love my children and my siblings’ children, but there is no one she loves more than you, Talia, and little Henri. She would choose all of you over my family, without hesitation. After all, in her eyes, it is my family that killed her only child.”

            Bane knew Nashir was right about all of it, but he would never voice that opinion to him.

            “So,” Nashir continued, “perhaps when Talia is contemplating Nyssa’s fate, you will inform her of my directive.”

            “I most certainly will.”

            A tentative knock came at the door.

            “Who is it?” Nashir called.

            “Tahan, sir.”

            “Come in.” Nashir’s gaze flashed to Bane, and Bane saw contained anger. Unlike his older brothers, Nashir was not prone to rage, but his quiet wrath was just as deadly. He would not be soft on Ra’id Tahan, a fact that pleased Bane.

            Tahan first poked his head inside, then the rest of his body followed. He had fully dressed for this audience, and though Bane easily sensed his fear, Tahan did his best to hide it, coming to stand at attention on the rug in front of his boss. He situated his body at a slight angle to keep Bane within his sight.

            “You called for me, sir.”

            “Indeed, Ra’id. I’ve been fully briefed on what has occurred in my household tonight.”

            “Sir,” Tahan’s Adam’s apple bobbed, “may I offer my sincere apology for—”

            “No, you may not. Apologies are for mistakes. What you are guilty of is no mistake. You know my rules about women coming to your room.”

            “Yes, sir. But Nyssa was born and raised here. I’ve known her for—”

            “But she lives here no longer, and you know her profession, do you not?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Perhaps you knew her purpose for being here and aided her.”

            “Absolutely not, sir.”

            “You allowed her to leave your room.”

            “I fell asleep. I had told her to stay.”

            Nashir raised a mocking eyebrow. “And you thought that would be enough?”

            “Yes. I didn’t know she had any other reason for being here except to—”

            “To fuck you?” Now Nashir’s tone was mocking as well.

            “Well…yes, sir. Looking back on it now, I—”

            “You are a skilled soldier, Ra’id. However, your hubris has often gotten in the way of your judgment.”

            “It won’t happen again, sir.”

            “No. No, it won’t. Tell me, Ra’id, did the woman reveal anything to you? Perhaps something she said that you didn’t think significant until now, after she’s been exposed.”

            “No, sir. We really didn’t spend all that much time talking.”

            Nashir gave a sad smirk. “I imagine not. She was too busy manipulating you with her feminine charms. And manipulate you she did. I cannot have such weakness in my men.”

            “Please, sir. I will make it up to you. I will kill her myself, if you want.”

            “If she were to reveal Bane’s presence here, he and Talia are not the only ones who could suffer. What you did put my family in jeopardy.”

            “Please, sir, if you will just allow me to atone—”

            “I am sorry, Ra’id.” Nashir looked to Bane. “He has caused potentially more damage to you, Bane. Perhaps you would like to serve out his punishment in whatever fashion you feel appropriate.”

            Tahan’s eyes widened, and he took a step backward. “Please, sir, I won’t let you down again.”

            “I know you won’t,” Nashir said coolly as Bane rose from his chair.

            Tahan started to retreat another step, but Bane’s hand flashed out, his long arm easily covering the space between them. Tahan clasped Bane’s wrist, tried to fight off his iron grip, but in seconds it was over with one powerful, crunching squeeze.

#

            When Barsad returned to his room, he found Sanjana sitting up in bed, gnawing on her fingernails.

            “Darlin’, why aren’t you with Bane and Maysam?”

            “We had gotten the all clear, so I came back to wait for you. Bane went to talk to Nashir.”

            Barsad returned his pistol to the nightstand drawer on his side of the bed. “You shouldn’t have waited for me. You should be asleep.”

            She frowned. “There’s no way I could sleep after that, especially without you here.”

            He pulled off his shirt and pants and crawled into bed. Taking her in his arms, he kissed her. “There’s nothing to worry about.” He drew her back down beneath the blanket, his hand going to her belly. “Don’t get yourself worked up. We’ve got it under control.”

            “Bane said this Nyssa woman is claiming to be Talia’s sister.”

            “Yeah. Half-sister.”

            “Do you believe her?”

            “Don’t see why she’d make something like that up, especially knowing we can disprove it.”

            “Don’t you think it best to kill her?”

            “My, my, my,” Barsad teased with a grin. “Aren’t you becoming the ruthless one?”

            “Oh, bunny,” she said, using her pet name for him, one she inadvertently called him instead of honey when she had been learning English; she had been using it ever since. “I’m thinking of our child. He needs a father.”

            “His _or her_ father isn’t going anywhere.” Barsad kissed her again. Her skin felt cold, and she trembled slightly. He pulled her close to share his warmth.

            “Bane still plans to go to Jaipur tomorrow. I can’t believe it.”

            “No big deal. I’ll be keeping Nyssa company while we wait for the result of the DNA test. Let the big lug enjoy some time away with Jin.”

            Her chocolate eyes studied him. “It does not surprise me that you are unmoved by this woman being here, but Bane…I can’t believe he didn’t just kill her outright. She’s a threat to Talia, and because of that, she’s a threat to all of us.”

            “Let Bane and Talia worry about Nyssa. All I want you to do is rest and relax.” The truth was Nyssa did worry the hell out of Barsad, but he would never let Sanjana know.

            “What if she betrays you? We can’t lose you. I can’t raise this child alone.”

            Barsad kissed her forehead. “Stop worrying, Sanji. Everything will be fine. You’ll see. Now turn off that light.”

            Reluctantly, Sanjana switched off the light on her nightstand, then snuggled back into his embrace. “Where is she now?”

            “Downstairs, locked in a room that our brothers are guarding. And don’t get any ideas about confronting her. You won’t be allowed to see her. I don’t want her knowing you exist, at least not yet.”

            “Do you think Talia will allow her to take over the League from Bane?”

            “Hard to say. Guess we’ll just have to wait to find out.”

            Sanjana’s lips brushed against his neck as she murmured, “I hope she just gets rid of her. It is too dangerous to let her live. I think Maysam agrees.”

            Barsad chuckled. “Perhaps you and Maysam should be initiated into the League. Any man or woman with any sense should fear both of you.”


	12. Chapter 12

            The drive to Jaipur normally took between six and seven hours, depending on traffic on National Highway 11. Cars, trucks, buses, and motorbikes traversed the busy paved highway, flowing along like platelets through a black vein. They passed larger towns like Bikaner and Fatehpur, as well as dusty villages and roadside businesses, many catering to tourists who traveled between Agra and Jaipur

            Rural countryside, tawny with scrubby trees and brush, slipped past the windows of the two vehicles from the palace, keeping Henri’s keen interest, his face often plastered to the windows, fingers jabbing at something near or far, questions for his father falling constantly from his lips. He crawled from Bane’s lap on one side of the Land Rover to Maysam’s on the other and back several times.

            “Monkey, Jiddah!” He laughed and pointed at a motorcyclist with a monkey passenger.

            “Yes, I see, habibi.”

            “I want monkey, Papa Baba.”

            “No pets at the palace, Jin,” Bane said.

            “Please.”

            “You heard me.”

            “We already have a monkey at the palace,” Maysam teased.

            “We do?” Henri asked.

            “Yes,” she said with a mischievous smile. “You, my little monkey.” She smothered him with kisses, causing him to giggle and squirm to escape. Then she distracted him by pointing to some cows that grazed in the distance.

            Not since leaving the palace that morning had Henri mentioned his mother. Bane was pleased that the boy was finally distracted enough to leave his grief behind. An important step.

            It was mid-afternoon by the time they reached the League safehouse in Jaipur, which was located near the eastern edge of the city, in Shakti Colony. From this two-story affair, one of the League’s men operated, but he vacated the premises once Bane’s party arrived. The lower floor was rented to a family that knew the operative only as a bachelor who worked construction. The upper floor was comprised of two bedrooms, a living room, a small kitchen, and a bathroom. The rear of the building faced a scraggily garden, while the front looked out upon the short, gated driveway. Neighboring homes crowded close on both sides. Shakti was overshadowed by the hills of the Aravalli range to the east, brown and unappealing to Bane’s eye, reminding him of those near the palace.

            “Where elephants?” Henri cried as he raced through the apartment and looked out all the windows.

            Maysam chuckled. “The elephants don’t live here, _ya habib alby._ ”

            “Where are they?” He halted in front of her, crestfallen.

            “At the fort, little cub,” Bane said. “You will see them tomorrow.”

            “Go now.”

            “It is afternoon now,” Bane said. “The elephant rides are only in the morning when it isn’t so hot.”

            Abrams and the four other men in their party carried in the overnight bags.

            “Come now, habibi.” Maysam took Henri’s hand. “Let us go to the kitchen and get everyone something to drink and a snack to tide us over until supper.”

            “There is a park not far from here,” Bane said. “I will take Jin there to run off some of his energy after he eats. Do you wish to accompany us, Maysam?”

            “No,” she called from the kitchen. “I’m tired from the trip. I’ll rest a bit then start supper.”

            “Nonsense,” Bane said, having no memory of Maysam ever cooking. “We will order take-out tonight.” He gestured to Abrams. “You can put my bag in that bedroom with Henri’s things. Maysam will sleep in the other bedroom.”

            Everything, inside the house and out, fascinated Henri. He could barely sit still long enough to snack on hummus and naan bread, constantly asking questions. The four men of their security detail—two League men and two from Abrams’s small detail that protected Maysam wherever she went—left the house to familiarize themselves with their surroundings and to escape the toddler’s stream of consciousness.

            “There are only two bedrooms,” Maysam said. “Where will the men sleep?”

            “This couch pulls out into a bed,” Abrams said. “Two will sleep while two are on watch.”

            “But what about you?” she asked.

            Abrams shrugged. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

            “You most certainly will not,” Maysam said. “There are two small beds in my room. You will use one of them.”

            Abrams’s face reddened, and he looked to Bane as if for assistance. Bane struggled not to smile, a struggle Abrams seemed to recognize, for he narrowed his eyes in displeasure.

            “That wouldn’t be appropriate, Maysam,” Abrams began.

            “This isn’t about propriety,” she interrupted him. “It’s about comfort. I will not have you sleeping on the floor when there is an unused bed.” Her eyebrows took on a playful slant. “If you are shy, Aaron, you can hang a blanket across the middle of the room.”

            “Your brother and brother-in-law will have my head if they find out—”

            “And how will they find out unless you tell them? Your men and ours know better than to speak of anything they see or hear; they are _our_ men, not Nashir’s, remember. Please don’t look so shocked, Aaron. You know me well enough to know my religion does not dictate everything I do or say. _Need_ dictates.”

            “I sleep with Papa Baba,” Henri announced as he licked hummus from his smeared fingers.

            Bane tousled the boy’s hair. “Indeed, you will.”

            “I can move the bed into Bane’s room,” Abrams said.

            “Don’t be silly,” Maysam scolded. “There’s no room for another bed in there.”

            Bane chuckled. “Surrender, Abrams. You know you cannot win.”

            Abrams snatched some bread, grumbling, “Someday I will.”

#

            Abrams remained at the house, as did his men, while Bane, accompanied by his League brothers, took Henri to the nearby park. Maysam dozed on the couch. Directing one of his men to remain inside with Maysam, Abrams reconnoitered the neighborhood, a good excuse not to be alone with her. Maybe she would forget about the bed situation, and he could safely sleep in a room other than hers.

            Dressed like the locals, Abrams blended in as he walked around the neighborhood, his lower face partially covered by a faded red shemagh. Some of the adults he passed glanced at him, but no one stared, too involved in their own business. Boys played soccer and cricket in the streets, ignoring the middle-aged man strolling by. Music blared from an ancient radio set in a window. The Hindi voices of a man and woman rose in an argument from one house he passed. Wedded bliss, he scoffed.

            The thought of relationships brought Maysam back to his mind with the same jarring shock as running into a wall. Having her in the vehicle during today’s long drive had made the tedious journey bearable. She seemed pleased to be away from the palace, away from the worries that Nyssa had brought to her door. Abrams could tell she had done her best to make the day about Henri, only once mentioning the Nyssa situation with Bane during Henri’s nap. Silently Abrams cursed Nyssa and again wished Bane had killed her. If Nyssa was Talia’s half-sister, Abrams hated to think of the stress the revelation would cause Maysam.

            He returned to the safehouse an hour later, satisfied with the lack of anything remarkable in the neighborhood. Maysam sat on the balcony off the living room, reading a book. Abrams sent his man to his post outside then went to the kitchen to putter about cleaning things instead of joining Maysam. He berated his cowardice. Here was his chance to spend some relaxing private time with her, but after the unsettling conversation about sharing her bedroom, he felt too awkward.

            Maysam came inside just as Bane and Henri returned. Henri flew into her arms to tell her all about the park.

            While Henri chattered away, Abrams asked Bane, “One of the locals said there’s a good kabob place not far that does take out. Sound all right?”

            “If it is agreeable with Maysam, then it is agreeable with me. Do not order anything too spicy for Henri, however.”

            Before the food arrived, Bane called Talia. He put the phone on speaker in the living room, so Talia could talk with everyone. Abrams figured Bane did this to avoid a private conversation wherein Talia might sense that Bane was withholding something from her. Ultimately Bane got in few words as Henri did most of the talking, telling her everything his little mind had retained from the long day and anticipating his adventures of tomorrow.

            Later, after dinner, Henri was excited to find Toy Story on TV, and he insisted everyone watch it with him. He was asleep well before the end of it, tucked in the crook of his father’s arm where they sat on the worn sofa. Without waking him, Bane carried the boy off to bed, then returned to the living room a few minutes later.

            Abrams, Bane, and Maysam discussed the next day’s plans and chatted for some time. Maysam was the first to succumb to fatigue, nodding off during the conversation until finally getting to her feet.

            “I am going to bed, gentlemen. It’s been a long day.” When they wished her good night, Maysam pointed a finger at Abrams. “And if I wake up and find you sleeping anywhere but in that bed, Aaron Abrams, I will have Bane tie you to it.”

            Bane chuckled. “Rest assured, I will make sure he complies.”

#

            The room Nyssa had been confined to was similar to Ra’id Tahan’s room, just down the hallway. This one, however, had no window, and its furnishings were far cruder, the television a tiny, ancient black and white thing; ah, well, she had never been much for television anyway. No doubt some servant had been ousted from here.

            She exercised, meditated, and napped the day away, never seeing anyone except when her guards delivered a meager breakfast and lunch. The fact that Ra’id hadn’t visited her told her that he was either pissed at her or had paid for his carelessness with his life. She figured the latter, and though she had no true feelings for Ra’id, she would regret her part in his death if he were indeed gone.

            Her situation didn’t frighten her; she feared only for her mother. Though she had questioned the guards about what consequences her mother may have already suffered, they gave her no information. If they harmed her mother, Nyssa vowed to make Bane and anyone else involved regret it. But if she got what she wanted out of this situation—Demon Head—then her mother would never again want for anything. The possibility made Nyssa smile.

            She had slept little last night, bombarded by so many thoughts and plans, excited. No one in the world outside the League of Shadows and this palace knew what she knew. Bane, Talia, and that fucking snark, Barsad, had survived Gotham. Seeing Bane on television had been mesmerizing enough, but to see him in the flesh, and without the mask… She couldn’t really describe her feelings. That charisma of his was almost tactile, like an electrical current emanating from him. Perhaps to his men it was like a drug—they didn’t want to live without it; it enslaved them like any addiction. And though his facial surgery or surgeries had obviously been extensive and challenging, even the scars left behind couldn’t diminish the man’s air of invincibility, nor could it diminish his good looks. Everyone had tried to imagine what lay beneath that tarantula-like mask, and though his natural appearance had forever been lost, Nyssa had a feeling the surgeon had done a skillful job of restoring most of his attributes, like his full lips. No wonder her half-sister had given herself to Bane. What woman could resist such an Adonis? Though he was no young man himself, his physique put that of most younger men to shame.

            Nyssa scoffed at herself as she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She should be viewing Bane as an opponent, not as a sexual being. After all, he was a potential obstacle, a dangerous one. He could kill her or her mother at any moment. Yet Nyssa believed he would keep his word about waiting on the DNA results. After all, he could have killed her by now. She wondered if he would come down here and interrogate her further. In fact, she hoped he did; anything would be better than this smothering boredom.

            She quickly sat up when she heard a key in the lock, especially coming immediately after her thoughts of Bane visiting her. But the man who appeared was not Bane. She scowled. Barsad.

            “A gentleman would’ve knocked first,” she said.

            “Never claimed to be a gentleman,” he said flatly as he shut the door behind him. One of the guards locked it from the outside. Barsad remained near the door, folding his arms loosely across his chest, hooded eyes raking her where she sat on the edge of the small bed. He appeared casual, vulnerable to attack, but Nyssa knew better.

            “I want to know how my mother is. You’d better not have—”

            “Relax. Your mother’s unharmed…for now.”

            “She’d better stay that way.”

            Now a small grin unveiled a peek of blunt teeth. “Or what?”

            “Or you’ll pay for it, either now or later when I’m your boss. That is, if I keep you around.”

            Barsad chuckled coldly, and she realized she could try all day, but she’d never rattle him. Insouciantly, he leaned back against the door, braced one heel against it.

            “I must say, your attitude does remind me a bit of Talia.”

            “If you can’t see the physical resemblance, then you’re blind.”

            Barsad pulled a face. “Might see it. But there’s a lot of brunettes with dark complexions in this world.”

            Nyssa scoffed. “You see it. You just won’t admit it.”

            Barsad only grinned that irritating grin, smug and completely in control.

            “Is Ra’id dead?”

            “I think you know the answer to that.”

            She swallowed hard, demanded, “What do you want?”

            Barsad shrugged. “Just thought I’d check on you. See if there’s anything you remembered that you might want to tell us. Change your story, maybe.”

            “There’s nothing to change. The DNA will prove it.”

            “So, if you knew all this time that Rā’s al Ghūl was your father, why’d you wait so long to step forward?”

            “I didn’t know where my father was or that he was head of the League until I saw the news story about his death. I only knew he had left me and my mother in the lurch.”

            “Yeah, but Rā’s died a while ago now. Why didn’t you step forward then? I understand you’re resourceful; surely you could’ve gotten in touch with the League or knew someone who could.”

            “My husband was dead-set against it.”

            “Husband?” Barsad looked amused, close to laughter.

            “Ex now. And now that he’s out of the picture, I’ve been thinking more and more about what my father owes me and my mother. All those years he spent with Talia instead of me. Obviously, he never told her about me. Of course not. Arrogant bastard. Didn’t want his daughter to know he had consorted with a poor villager in the middle of nowhere Rajasthan.”

            Barsad’s grin vanished. “If you have dreams of being Demon Head, referring to Rā’s al Ghūl as an arrogant bastard won’t endear you to the brethren.”

            “I won’t deify a man who broke my mother’s heart and abandoned her and his child.”

            “Maybe he had reasons he couldn’t tell you.”

            “Spoken like a true man. Perhaps the League needs some women in its ranks. Enlighten it a bit.”

            Barsad’s anger dissipated as quickly as it had come. He chuckled at her statement. “As a divorcee, I’d think you would know better than to mix the two.”

            “I have a lot of ideas for the League.”

            “What do you care about the League other than as a means for revenge against a dead man? You know, Talia once felt similarly to how you feel about him.”

            “I doubt that. She said herself in Gotham that she was completing our father’s work.”

            “No surprise you don’t know everything. But I’ll let her tell you the family tale, if she chooses to, and if you remain alive through this.”

            “For your information, my interest in the League isn’t simply revenge. I’m in a similar line of work.”

            Barsad scoffed. “Hardly. Shows how much you know about the League.”

            “I said similar, not the same.”

            Barsad shook his head. “So delusional. It’s almost funny.”

            Nyssa narrowed her eyes, had a feeling he was enjoying this game of back and forth. “Why are you in the League? I heard you had a nice cushy job right here in the palace years ago, working for that asshole Siddig El Fadil.”

            His sleepy poker face gave her no clue as to the validity of her speculation. “I’m in the League because I believe in their work, and I believe in their leader.”

            “Have you fucked her?”

            That lazy grin. “Like I said—delusional.”

            “Maybe you’re in love with her, and that’s why you’re here. She must be quite charismatic to lead the League. And we both know she’s beautiful; maybe not as beautiful as her sister, but…”

            “Like I said, you don’t know anything.”

            “Well, I doubt that’s your reason for being in the League anyway. After all, Bane and Talia had a child together. No way Bane would let someone who’s in love with his woman hang around. He strikes me as the definitive alpha male who expects his woman to be monogamous. He’d rip any challengers apart. How’d those two meet anyway? I have my theories. I heard he grew up in prison, and I know for a fact Melisande took my father’s place in some hellhole jail after Siddig heard about her marriage. Was it the same one? She must have given birth to Talia there since I know she died there. My mother told me all about Maysam mourning her, and no one had seen Melisande after she had been banished, so she must have died in prison. What a prick Siddig was. His own daughter. Though I have to say, considering how she took my father from my mother, I never felt any overwhelming pity for Melisande, just for her mother.”

            “Like I said, I’ll let Talia tell the story, if you’re allowed to meet her. You’ll get nothing from me.”

            Nyssa considered him and his non-reaction to her comment about him fucking Talia. She could read people well, and what she saw was a man interested in neither Talia nor her, an unusual response when it came to herself, and no doubt Talia, too. That meant he was one of two types of men—a homo, or a hetero with a lover. Judging from what she had heard of him during the Gotham siege, it wasn’t the former.

            “If you won’t tell me about my sister,” Nyssa said with a baiting smile, “then tell me about yourself. I’m bored.” She crossed her legs and bounced one bare foot to draw his attention to her exposed flesh. “Do you keep your woman here at the palace, too? I’m assuming so. Probably why you’re so eager to kill me. Another secret taken to the grave.”

            An ever-so-faint flash in Barsad’s eyes told her that she had hit close to home. Surprise, anger, then back to the vacuous, heavy-lidded blue wall.

            “It’s a good place to hide, here in the middle of nowhere, behind the walls of a warlord, someone with a shared criminality. Each with leverage against the other to ensure compliance. Your woman feels safe here, and you feel she is safe.”

            Barsad sighed melodramatically and shook his head. “You really are gifted at fiction, darlin’. But, if you have nothing of interest to say to me, it’s time I go back to work. I have guns to clean and rounds to load.”

            “Is she local, Barsad?” Nyssa asked as he rapped on the door to signal the guards. “Sampling local fare like my father did, maybe?” The door opened, Barsad’s back already turned. “Well, if she is, I hope you won’t dump her like my father dumped my mother when the next piece comes along, swinging long hair and waving money under your nose.”

            Barsad stepped out of the room without looking back, and Nyssa laughed tauntingly as the door shut behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

            The nightmare was familiar to Abrams, all too familiar. Back in the days when he used to get drunk, smoke weed, or use other drugs, he would often self-medicate before going to bed, in the hopes of escaping the nightmares. But since working for Maysam, he did none of that except for occasionally drinking off duty. As far as he was concerned, a situation like this trip to Jaipur meant he was constantly on duty, so alcohol was out of the question. And so the memories made their return deep in the night, creeping in like a deadly black serpent, into a pit from which he could not escape.

            The figure was shadowy at first, as it often was, but he knew it to be his father. A muscular, tall man, even taller in the eyes of a young boy.

            “I have to go to work, Aaron.”

            “No, Dad. Stay home. Just this once.”

            “We go through this every day, son.” No anger in his parent’s voice, just regret and weariness. Sadness. Always that sadness since the death of his wife. “Here comes your uncle.”

            That phrase always sickened Abrams, and he clung to the door of his father’s car when his uncle opened it.

            “Go on, son.”

            “What’s the problem, Aaron?” his uncle asked with that sickening, indulgent tone.

            Abrams refused to look at his uncle, fought back tears. “Just today, Dad. We can go fishing.”

            “I’m sorry. I have to work.”

            In the dream, his uncle turned into that black serpent, wrapping around him, dragging him out of the car. Abrams screamed for his father, but the car was gone, and the serpent’s coils tightened, pulled him into the house. In the next moment, he was alone, in bed, everything deathly quiet. Darkness seemed to move around him, like a swirl of mist. He heard only his own breathing. The door creaked, and he held his breath, slipped farther beneath the blankets. But there was no hiding from the serpent; it slithered into his bed, its scales cold and repulsive as they slid along Abrams’s burning skin. He tried to fight it off, struggling blind beneath the blankets, becoming more and more tangled, screaming for his father.

            “Aaron! Aaron, wake up.”

            Someone’s hands upon him, shaking his shoulder, scaring away the constricting snake. He awoke with a gasp, the darkness suddenly replaced by a warm glow, a glow that seemed to emanate from around Maysam’s head as she bent over his bed, a worried look on her face.

            “Jesus, Maysam…” He sat up, tried to get his bearings.

            “Shh. You’ll wake Henri. You were having a bad dream, so I thought it best to wake you.”

            “Okay…yeah, thanks.” He glanced around. Not the palace; no, Jaipur… Maysam’s bedroom. Christ. What shitty timing. “Sorry I woke you.”

            “I was awake. I don’t sleep very well away from home. Are you all right? Can I get you some water?”

            “No. No, I’m fine. Thanks.” He tugged the sheet closer to him, though he was hot, his t-shirt and shorts damp with sweat, the sweat of fear from the dream.

            “You don’t sound fine,” Maysam said, frowning.

            To his regret, she pulled a nearby wooden chair up to his bed and sat. Then she shocked him by taking his hand in both of hers. Her flesh was cool from the air conditioning, the light from the small lamp near her bed bronzing her skin.

            “You have nightmares regularly.”

            “No, not much anymore.”

            “I know you’ve had nightmares about the pit, but this was different, wasn’t it? You called for your father.”

            “Really, Maysam, it was just a bad dream. Everyone has ’em. Why don’t you go back to bed?”

            “Aaron.” Now that familiar stubbornness took hold of her, tightening her lips as well as her grip on his hand. “We’ve known each other a long time now, haven’t we? We are friends, are we not?”

            “Sure, but—”

            “And friends talk to one another, confide in one another.”

            “About some things, yeah—”

            “More and more it hurts me when you shut me out.”

            Her admission brought his protests to a stunned halt. She drew her hands back to her lap.

            “I don’t expect you to tell me your deepest, darkest secrets, Aaron. If you don’t want to tell me about your dream, I won’t press.” She paused. “But I want you to know…if you ever do want to share…anything with me, I will be happy to listen. I want to listen.” Her frown returned. “Perhaps your reticence is why you still have these terrible dreams.”

            Abrams tried to make light of her words. “You think I need a shrink?”

            “I think it would help for you to talk to someone, to me perhaps. You have survived years of hell. I didn’t live in the pit prison, but my heart and soul were there with my daughter, so if anyone understands the emotional scars left behind by that place, it is me. And if it is something more than the pit, I still think I could help you.”

            “I appreciate your concern, but really,” he shook his head, forced a smile, “it was just a dream.”

            “Aaron. You know me well enough to realize I am not a fool.”

            He started to defend himself again, but all words fell away when she took his face in her hands, leaned close, too damn close, stared into his eyes, both commanding and compassionate. Then she kissed him on the lips, lingered only a moment, then freed him and sat back.

            “There,” she said. “You are speechless at last. Good. Now I can have my say. You are a good man, Aaron Abrams, but for some reason you don’t think you are, and that’s why you don’t let anyone help you. Well, I am going to remedy that, mark my words.”

            Abrams felt like a fool, just sitting there with his mouth slightly open, still relishing the taste of her lips, her tantalizing scent, paralyzed between the desire to take her in his arms or to run for the door.

            Maysam smoothed her nightgown against her thighs and looked down as if suddenly demure. “I certainly hope I have not scandalized you too much with my forward display.”

            “No,” he stammered. “Surprised me, sure, but—”

            “Surprised you because I am your employer or because you did not suspect my feelings for you?”

            “Um, both, I guess.”

            “Should I apologize for my behavior?”

            “Absolutely not.” Abrams realized her kiss had completely erased the nightmare from his mind, at least for that moment.

            “It really isn’t appropriate,” she said near a clandestine whisper, with a mischievous little smile and a glance toward Bane’s room. “After all, my great-grandson is in the next room.”

            “True, I guess.”

            “Perhaps we can…revisit this once we are back at the palace.”

            Thoughts of the dream, of the snake, returned to quash some of his enthusiasm, but he didn’t want to hurt Maysam, so he murmured, “Maybe we can.”

            She hesitated. “Well, if you are sure you are all right, I will leave you be and go back to bed.”

            “I…yeah, I’m sure. You should try to get some sleep. We have to be up in just a couple of hours.”

            Was that disappointment he saw in her sultry eyes? But, Christ, what should he do? Before he could decide, she gave him a small smile and returned to her bed. He started to speak, to say that maybe they could talk, just for a little while, but then she clicked off the lamp, and darkness rolled back over him. But he knew he would be awake the rest of the night, thinking of that kiss and more.

#

            “Elephants, Jiddah!” Henri shrieked with delight. “Elephants!”

            Abrams had not even put the SUV in park before Henri was trying to get out of the locked vehicle.

            “Patience, Jin,” Bane scolded. “You will mind me or there will be no elephant ride.”

            Henri plastered his face against the window, staring out at the elephants in a large courtyard adjacent to the car park. Some were lumbering away, carrying tourists; others were awaiting the next load of humanity.

            With face concealed by his shemagh, Bane exited the vehicle, then reached in to collect his son.

            “Put down, Papa Baba.”

            “Not yet, my cub. There are too many cars and people here. I will carry you to the elephants.”

            “Hurry!”

            “I will move at whatever pace I desire, Jin. You will be patient and wait for Jiddah.”

            As always, Abrams held Maysam’s door for her, and she stepped into the sunshine in flowing black abaya and hijab. When she smiled and thanked him, Abrams reddened slightly.

            That morning, at breakfast, Bane had sensed that something significant had happened between Abrams and Maysam overnight. He was unsure what it was, but he knew it had not been sexual, for he was confident Maysam would never indulge in such activity with her great-grandson so near. Or perhaps he did not know her as well as he thought; after all, her old affair with Barsad had been far more daring than sleeping with Abrams. Either way, seeing the two’s silent connection pleased Bane, for they seemed very happy, almost shy, like two people who had just discovered one another. Bane looked forward to telling Talia; she would be very pleased.

            They, along with Bane’s bodyguard, walked with other tourists from the car park to the courtyard where the Asian elephants and their herders waited. The animals, their tusks trimmed short, seemed dull to Bane, though he could not blame them after spending their days lumbering up the pathway to the Amber Fort, the massive stone structure looming over them from high atop a hill. Several of the elephants’ heads had been festively painted with pastel colors, perhaps, Bane figured, to offset their lackluster expressions. Blankets of scarlet, blue, and gold draped their backs and hung below their wrinkled gray bellies, and atop these were small rectangular platforms where one to two tourists could ride, facing sideways.

            “Wanna pet, Papa Baba,” Henri pleaded, reaching out with seeking fingers.

            “We must ask permission first. And you must be gentle and quiet, so you don’t frighten them. They don’t know you, remember.”

            Henri nodded, never taking his eyes off the huge creatures. “They smell, Papa Baba.” He giggled, wrinkling his nose.

            “No doubt they think we smell, too, little cub.”

            Henri giggled some more.

            Since it was early in the day following their eleven-kilometer drive northeast to Amer, the line of visitors waiting for the elephants was not too long. Abrams paid the fees for two elephants as Bane cautiously approached the one Henri would ride.

            “My son would like to pet your elephant. Is that acceptable, _dost_?”

            The wiry dark man astride the elephant’s short neck seemed taken aback by the size of the man addressing him, but finally he bobbed his head. “Yes. But not long. Must go.”

            Henri trembled with excitement, suddenly quiet and unsure, his hands together as he chewed on his lips, staring at the elephant. The creature’s dark eye considered the child with little interest.

            “You may pet him, Jin. But we must not take long. Go ahead.”

            “It’s all right, habibi,” Maysam said. “He will not hurt you. He is used to children.”

            Carefully watching his son’s face, Bane stepped next to the elephant and reached out his own hand to touch the creature’s warm, leathery skin.

            “See,” Bane said. “There is nothing to fear.”

            With an expression full of wonder, Henri slowly reached out, holding his breath. When his fingers touched the elephant, he gasped.

            “Must go,” the herder said in his accented English. “Must go. Many people waiting.”

            “You will ride with Jiddah,” Bane said to Henri. “Abrams will ride on the elephant behind yours.”

            Henri seemed not to hear, still reverentially petting the animal. The large ears flapped, stirring the air, cooling Bane’s brow.

            “What about you, Haris?” Maysam asked.

            “I will not subject my weight upon one of these creatures. I will take the steps and meet you just inside the Sun Gate. Do you promise to be good for Jiddah, Henri?”

            Bane took Henri’s diaper bag from Maysam, then drew back from the elephant so Maysam and Henri could go to a nearby platform to mount their elephant.

            “Did you hear me, son? You will sit very still with Jiddah. You will hurt yourself badly if you fall off the elephant. You will hold onto the little railing and Jiddah. Understand?”

            “Yes, Papa Baba. I promise.”

            “Very well.”

            Bane waited below the platform while Maysam and Henri were safely taken aboard. From his lofty perch, Henri stared around him, agape, showing no fear.

            “Are you sure you want to do this, Maysam?” Abrams asked nervously from the platform, though Bane wondered if his friend’s trepidation was more for himself than Maysam, who seemed completely at ease atop the elephant.

            “I will be fine, Aaron,” she said, close to a laugh, watching him awkwardly mount the next elephant.

            Bane took his phone from his pocket and snapped some pictures and video of Henri for Talia as the herder urged the elephant on its way. He stifled a chuckle at the spectacle of Abrams clinging to the rails of the riding platform. Earlier, when they had discussed the elephant ride, Bane had suggested Abrams allow his League brother to accompany Maysam and Henri up to the fort, but Abrams refused to let anyone else safeguard Maysam.

            Bane reached the top of the hill just before Henri’s and Abrams’s trudging elephants. The small bells some of the elephants wore around their necks jingled musically as they filed through the archway of the narrow Sun Gate. Standing separate from the groups of milling tourists, Bane took more pictures as Henri’s elephant entered the immense courtyard. The boy held dutifully to his great-grandmother as well as the railing beside him, his body swaying side to side with the elephant’s prehistoric movement. His animated voice echoed off the red sandstone walls. When he spotted his father, he waved and called to him. Abrams’s elephant followed behind, its passenger clinging to the railings of the platform, Abrams’s expression one of someone eager to dismount.

            The elephants were guided over to a wall of a height that made disembarking easy for the riders. Bane climbed up to assist them, all the while his ears filled with Henri’s steady stream of news about his magical ride.

            “Big water out there.” Henri pointed back through the Sun Gate toward Maota Lake, which lay at the eastern base of the hill. “We go swimming, Papa Baba?”

            “No, little one. That lake is not for swimming. Come now, give me your hand.”

            “No, keep riding.”

            “No, the ride is over. Your elephant must go back down the hill to fetch more people.”

            “I want to pet him.”

            “Maybe you can pet one later. Hurry, now.”

            Henri pouted but surrendered to his father’s grip.

            “Bye-bye, elephant,” Henri said. “Thank you for ride.”

            In Bane’s arms, he waved as the creature shuffled away. As they waited for Abrams to huff and puff his way awkwardly from his mount, Henri’s expression sobered as he watched the constant flow of elephants coming and going through the Sun Gate.

            “Papa Baba?”

            “Yes, Jin?”

            “Elephants sad.”

            “What makes you say that?” His son’s intuition surprised Bane.

            Henri frowned. “Man hit elephant. Like this.” He slapped the side of his head. “We take them all home. Make them happy. Not hit them. They live in the garden.”

            “I do not think Nashir would approve.”

            “Definitely not,” Maysam said.

            “But the elephants sad.”

            Not wanting to delve into the subject of animal abuse, Bane said, “I think they are perhaps just bored, doing the same thing over and over all morning. Just like how you don’t like taking a bath every night or going to bed at the same time.”

            Sputtering to himself, straightening his clothes, Abrams drew near. “We don’t have to ride those things back down the hill later, do we?”

            Maysam laughed. “No, they only bring people up, not down.”

            “Thank God.”

            “Unca Abrams don’t like elephants, Papa Baba.”

            “So it would seem. Now, let us explore this marvelous site before the weather becomes unbearable.” He turned so Henri could take in the full view of the courtyard. “This is the _Jaleb Chowk_ , the place where the maharaja’s soldiers would parade after returning from war, displaying all the booty they had brought back with them. And from those screened windows over there, ladies like Jiddah would watch.”

            “I be a soldier, Papa Baba?”

            “Perhaps one day, little cub.”

            They spent the rest of the morning wandering with the hundreds of other visitors through the various courtyards and gardens of the massive, ancient palace compound. Henri rode upon his father’s shoulders, and at that height, it was easy for him to spot the elephant-shaped capitals on the twenty-seven colonnades in the public audience hall. For the rest of their time there, he looked for anything elephant-related among the architecture. His favorite feature, however, was the _Jai Mandir_ in the third courtyard, where the private quarters of the maharaja, his family, and court had lived. Glass inlaid panels and ceilings with multiple tiny, decorative mirrors fascinated all visitors. Colored foil and paint embellished the myriad of convex mirrors. A rope barrier and a guard kept the tourists from touching the ancient mirrorwork.

            “This is known as the _Sheesh Mahal_ , or the glass palace,” Bane explained to his son. “Servants like Hisham would light candles here during cold days. The flames would reflect off all these mirrors and make this a very warm, pleasant spot for the royal family.”

            “For Jiddah?”

            Maysam chuckled. “I am not royalty, habibi.”

            “Don’t let her fool you, kid,” Abrams said. “She _is_ royalty.”

            Bane hid his surprise at Abrams’s boldness, but it pleased him how the compliment made Maysam blush and lose the ability to speak. She waved a dismissive hand and walked away, studying the shimmering mirrors.

            “Jiddah queen!” Henri proclaimed.

            “That she is, my son.”

            By midday they finished their tour of the fort and gardens. The day’s growing heat had wilted all of them except Henri. Bane sent his bodyguard to the parking lot to retrieve their vehicle and meet them at the north entrance, so Maysam would not be subjected to the long walk back down the hill.

            While they waited in the main courtyard, Henri happily watched the elephants in their stoic duties. He was particularly enchanted when his father paid one of the herders to allow him to feed an elephant a treat. When the elephant gently snuffled him with his trunk, Henri laughed and petted him without fear.

            When Bane told him to say good-bye, Henri looked reproachfully at the herder atop the elephant and pointed a finger. “No hit elephant. Be nice.”

            The herder gave him a blank look and urged the elephant back toward the Sun Gate.

            That evening, they returned to the fort to watch the light and sound show. Henri marveled at the dance of colored lights against the imposing walls of the fort as a narrator with a baritone voice boomed out the equally-colorful history of the centuries-old structure. Music echoed against the surrounding hills and out over the town below, causing Henri to jig and bounce. His energy had been replenished by a long afternoon nap with his great-grandmother, but even that failed to sustain him long once back in the SUV for the trip back to Jaipur. He went limp in his father’s lap less than five minutes into the ride.

            Bane smiled down at his son’s peaceful countenance, grateful for this trip and the opportunity not only to spend time with his child but to show more of the outside world to Henri. He and Talia had thus far kept Henri sequestered at the palace except for a couple of day trips to Jodhpur, which was much closer. Yes, it was safer that way, but it reminded Bane of his own boyhood when he had been imprisoned, missing out on life and experiences in the world of light. Once free, he had been behind the learning curve, having to devour years of lost knowledge in a short while during his training with the League. He now vowed that he would not put his son at that same disadvantage. Out of fear, Talia may argue against expanding their child’s world, but Bane was confident he could convince her of its worth.

            Again, he looked down at his sleeping boy, considered the adventures that lay ahead for him. Silently Bane promised that Henri would be prepared for anything, with both his parents at his side.


	14. Chapter 14

            In the morning, Bane and his entourage left Jaipur. Henri begged to stay longer, particularly to see the so-called monkey temple located east of the city that Abrams had unfortunately mentioned on the drive back from the evening light show at the Amber Fort. To make up for his blunder, Abrams bought a toy stuffed monkey to appease the boy. Though Henri still pouted as he got into the SUV to leave the safehouse, he hugged the monkey close, and soon was happy again as his father distracted him with various sights flying past the windows on their journey.

            On the long drive, Bane kept his phone close in case he received a call with the DNA results. But no call came. Maysam even urged him to reach out to Barsad about it.

            “There is no need, my dear. My brothers will contact me when they have something to report. Besides, you know I prefer to avoid my phone when I am with my son.”

            Bane was just as on edge as Maysam about the test results, but he hid even a hint of his unrest, and Maysam did her best to avoid reflecting anything but contentment to her great-grandchild.

            It was afternoon by the time they arrived at the palace. The day’s heat was in full force as they stepped out of the vehicle in the courtyard. Barsad and Sanjana stood just outside the palace’s main doors, smiling as Henri shouted and ran to them as if he had been away for years. Barsad lifted him up, the boy showing them the monkey and rattling off a disjointed narrative about elephants and light shows.

            Suddenly pausing, Henri looked around and asked, “Where Mama?”

            “Oh, sweetie,” Sanjana said. “Don’t you remember? She is away for a few days.”

            Frowning, Henri seemed to remember. He kneaded the monkey, making Bane recall the comfort his stuffed bear, Osito, had given him as a child.

            “Let us go inside,” Bane said. “We will all have some refreshment. Then you, my little monkey, will take a nap.”

            “No, Papa Baba. I tell Unca John ’bout elephant ride.”

            “You may do that inside while we relax from our interminable drive.”

            “Aunt Sanji, have baby now?”

            “Pretty soon, sweetie,” Sanjana said, her hand brushing his rosy cheek, the other on her belly.

            Maysam led the way inside, followed by Sanjana then the men. Barsad set Henri down, and the boy raced up the broad staircase.

            “How is our guest?” Bane quietly asked Barsad, his words masked from the women’s ears by Maysam asking Sanjana about her health.

            “Getting surlier by the hour. She’s not a fan of her accommodations. I take it you haven’t heard anything yet about the results.”

            “No, but I was assured during my phone call this morning that I would have the results by this evening.”

            “I hope you managed to enjoy yourself while you were gone. Sounds like Henri did.”

            “Yes. It was a valuable trip. He is no longer upset about his mother’s absence, though he is certainly eager for her return.”

            “If Nyssa is who she claims to be, are you going to tell Talia right away, or will you wait for her to come back?”

            “I have given it much thought. I still believe I should tell her right away. She would want me to.”

            “I agree.” Barsad grinned. “I think she’d rip you a new one if she found out you did otherwise.”

            “You and I know, brother, no one is capable of that, not even my beloved.”

            “I’m not so sure; I’ve heard you two fighting before.”

            “We never fight, Barsad. We discuss.”

            They fell silent as they climbed the stairs, and Bane noticed Barsad’s attention on Abrams as he followed Maysam. Barsad gave Bane a significant look and nodded toward Abrams and Maysam, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

            Bane smiled slightly and spoke in an undertone, “I will tell you later, brother.”

#

            When Bane’s cellphone rang during supper, conversation at the table stopped, and all eyes turned to him except Henri’s, for the toddler was blissfully concentrating on building a fort with his mashed potatoes.

            “Excuse me,” Bane said, pushing his chair back and heading out to the veranda. He answered the call. “You have the results?”

            “Yes, sir,” one of his brothers on the other end of the line said. “The results confirm her claim.”

            Bane’s heart seemed to stop. He stared into the twilight over the compound, across the near courtyard and over the gardens to the guest house where he used to stay when visiting. Talia used to sneak out of the palace at night and come to him there, before Maysam knew of their physical relationship.

            “Sir? Are you there?”

            “Yes. Thank you.” He disconnected the call, looked toward the distant brown hills, which were in the process of being turned a dark bronze by the dying sun. Pocketing the phone, he gripped the decorative railing of the veranda, breathed deeply to collect himself, to think. But only a moment, for he knew the others were waiting in tortured suspense.

            When he returned to the dining room, only Henri, who sat to Maysam’s right, did not turn. The strain on everyone’s face was palpable.

            “Haris,” Maysam managed. “Was that the call you were expecting?”

            Bane was glad to know his face had not given away the emotions that swirled within him.

            Henri looked up from his potato sculpture. “Mama come home?”

            “No,” Bane said. “That call was not from your mother; you spoke with her earlier, remember? Now, finish your food instead of playing with it. If you do, then you shall get dessert.” He returned to his chair, placed his linen napkin back in his lap. “The call confirmed Nyssa’s lineage.”

            Maysam and Sanjana gasped. Barsad and Abrams muttered curses.

            “Unca John said a bad word!”

            “Are you sure there couldn’t be a mistake, Haris?” Maysam asked.

            “Our resources are infallible. In this case, I wish they were not.”

            Barsad asked, “Are you going to call Talia right away?”

            “Yes, I shall do so after supper.”

            “Will you tell her over the phone?” Maysam wrung her hands in her napkin. “Or will you just ask her to come home?”

            “Mama come home?”

            “Soon,” Bane answered Henri patiently with a forced smile. Then to Maysam, “I prefer to tell her face to face. I have considered going to her, but I don’t want Henri to be without both of us, and I don’t feel it prudent to take him with me. I hate to cut her retreat short, but I know she would be resentful if she later found out that I kept this from her until she returned at the end of her holiday.”

            “She would,” Barsad said.

            “So, I will tell her it’s important League business that I need her counsel on. Obviously, we don’t speak of such things over the telephone, so she will be compelled to return. And couching it thus is not a lie.”

            Barsad nodded. “Good idea.”

            “Mama come home?” Henri cocked his head hopefully.

            “Probably, my cub. I will soon find out.”

            “Yay!” Henri flung up his hands, sending his mashed potato-filled spoon flying, nearly hitting his father with it.

            “Jin,” Bane scolded.

            Hisham, always near to serve during supper, stepped forward from his station behind Maysam to attend to the mess.

            “Apologize to Hisham and Jiddah,” Bane commanded his son.

            “I sorry.” Henri meekly took a clean spoon offered by the servant. “Thank you.”

            Bane nodded his satisfaction to Henri, and the boy’s smile returned.

            Hisham picked up the dirty spoon and cleaned the mess off the floor.

            Maysam, sitting at the head of the table, seemed not to notice any of the incident, a hand to her mouth, meal forgotten, eyes distant.

            Abrams gently spoke her name, drawing her back to the moment.

            “If you prefer, I could give her the news, Haris.”

            “That will not be necessary, Maysam, but thank you for the offer.”

            “How do you think she will react?” Abrams asked.

            “It is difficult to say. This is all so unexpected.” Bane sighed and picked up his fork, forcing a lighter tone. “Well, let us enjoy our supper. There is no sense in worrying about the situation.”

            Though all agreed and went back to their meal, a pall of uncertainty hung over the room. Only Henri, ignorant of the somber atmosphere, could change the mood, soon cheering them all with his amusing description of Abrams riding the elephant. No one laughed harder than Maysam and Sanjana, and for a short while Bane could set aside his concerns.

#

            “Hello, my love,” Talia’s musical voice rang in Bane’s ear. In just these few short days, she sounded so much better than before she had left on her trip.

            “Good evening, my dear, or afternoon, rather, where you are.”

            “How is Henri?”

            “He is well. He is with Jiddah right now, taking his bath.”

            “Oh, I’d hoped to speak with him.”

            “Of course, you shall, but first I wanted to talk to you without his chatter in our ears, if I may.”

            “What is it, habibi? Has Henri been misbehaving?”

            “No, he has been amicable.” Bane hesitated. “Something has come up concerning our brethren. I seek your counsel. In person, of course, per usual.”

            “Has something gone wrong?”

            “I wouldn’t say that, but it is a serious matter that I desire your feedback on. I’m very sorry to cut your holiday short. I considered coming to you, but because of our cub, I thought it unwise.”

            “Well, I certainly agree with that. No need to apologize, Haris. I certainly understand. I’ve had a wonderful few days here. It’s enough. I feel quite renewed, thanks to you. I miss everyone terribly, though. I will arrange my departure as soon as possible.”

            “Thank you, my love.”

            “How is Sanjana?”

            “She is well.”

            “Any progress in the way of Jiddah and Abrams?” There was a teasing smile in her voice, as there had been yesterday when he had told her about the change in Jaipur.

            “You will be amused to learn that we now have a new seating chart at the dining table.”

            “Oh? Do tell.”

            “Barsad has been forced to relinquish his seat on Maysam’s left, to Abrams.”

            Talia laughed.

            “Needless to say, Abrams did not look comfortable with the change. Sanjana, however, seemed most pleased. She spoke more during supper than I have ever heard her speak at a meal before.”

            “I’m happy to hear that.”

            “Well, we will speak in more detail once you are home, my dear. I will walk the phone to the bathroom now, so you may speak with our little one.” He got up from the sofa, glanced at their bed. “I look forward to your return, habibati.”

#

            Talia landed mid-morning, Yemi and the security detail driving her in from the airstrip some thirty kilometers away. Bane had refrained from telling Henri of her impending return until she had landed, for he had not wanted the child to remain awake all night in anticipation. Now he ran around their room in a happy frenzy, waving his monkey and shouting, “Mama, Mama!” until Bane swept him up and flew him like an airplane throughout the suite, much to Henri’s delight.

            Maysam accompanied them to the front door to greet Talia. Henri ran to the elevator and bounced up and down inside as they descended to the second floor, but Bane carried him down the main staircase to the foyer. There he set him on his feet and held tightly to his hand, Henri holding his monkey in the other as Talia’s vehicle rolled into the courtyard.

            “Mama! Mama!” Henri waved the monkey over his head and squealed. “Lemme go, Papa Baba.”

            “You stay right here with your father,” Maysam scolded, “so you don’t fall down the steps.”

            Bane’s heart swelled as Talia emerged from the car. She wore a small white hat at a stylish angle and dark sunglasses. Over a red and white blouse, a gauzy white, short-sleeved shrug billowed in the breeze that swirled a fine twist of dust around her. The wide legs of her pants waved about her like the tall, narrow prayer flags in the Bhutan of her youth. She called to her son and rushed forward. Henri pulled against his father, but Bane anchored him. Talia flowed up the steps to them, arms open, then she crouched down to enfold her exuberant child against her bosom and shower him with kisses.

            “I was good, Mama! I was good!”

            “Of course you were, my sweet. Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

            “Look at my monkey. Unca Abrams got him.”

            “Yes, you told me about him on the phone. It was very nice of Uncle Abrams to buy it for you.”

            “Uh-huh. I say thank you.”

            “That’s my good boy.” Talia hoisted him onto her hip and received Bane’s kiss.

            “Welcome home, hafida.” Maysam kissed Talia’s cheek. “Come inside. Have you had breakfast?”

            “I had a bite on the plane. I’ll be fine until lunch. The time difference, remember.”

            “Yes, of course.” Maysam ushered them inside, as Hisham hurried past with Talia’s luggage. “Would you like me to unpack for you while you rest?”

            “No, it’s fine, Jiddah. Thank you.”

            “I will have the kitchen send up some fresh-baked _fatayer jebnah_ and coffee to your room, in case you change your mind.”

            Bane had his arm lightly around Talia as they ascended the grand staircase, passing some of the El Fadil children racing downward, a couple who welcomed Talia back. One of Nashir’s sons, a seven-year-old, stopped to ask if Henri could come outside.

            “Would you like to go play, habibi?” Talia asked.

            Henri hugged his monkey. “I stay with you, Mama.”

            “Very well.” Talia kissed her son’s cheek in gratitude. “Perhaps later, Ahmed.”

            Nashir’s boy shrugged and rushed after his cousins.

            Henri put one arm around his mother’s neck. “I was good; Mama come home.”

            “That’s right, darling,” Talia said.

            Bane raised an eyebrow at Henri. “And perhaps if you continue to be good, your mother will stay.”

            Henri nuzzled Talia’s hair, whispered loudly into her ear, “Mama stay.”

            “I will, baby.”

            “Let me carry him, my dear. You have had a long journey.”

            Henri tightened his grip on her, dropping his monkey.

            As Bane bent to pick up the toy, Talia said, “It’s fine, habibati. I’ve missed my boy.” She grinned at Bane. “Both of them.”

#

            Though Talia was pleased to be home with her family, she had to admit she already missed the green beauty of France. The tawny colors of Rajasthan and the hot breath of the Thar Desert could not match the towering, snow-capped Pyrenees with their purple slopes and exhilarating clear air. No dust swirling about, finding its way into everything. Shimmering lakes and streams that spoke to her in a special language, a language that soothed her. She remembered springtime in the Himalayas with her father, when they would have picnics in the valleys and listen to the rush of water in streams swollen from the snowmelt.

            As soon as they reached the suite, Talia set Henri down, and he had bolted for the living area where his building blocks littered the central rug.

            “Mama, come play with me!”

            “I will play with you, _ya habib alby_ ,” Maysam said. “Your parents need to discuss something right now, so let’s give them some privacy. We’ll play in your room.”

            Bane nodded his appreciation to Maysam. His desire to discuss business first thing surprised Talia. Her concerns about what this problem could be had nagged at her ever since his phone call. It had to be of the utmost importance for him to recall her from her mandated vacation. Though she had wracked her brain all the way here, she had no idea what this could be about.

            “Wanna stay with Mama.”

            “She will come to join us in a few minutes.” Maysam held out her hand to the boy where he sat on the rug, already engrossed in stacking his blocks.

            “Henri,” Bane rumbled. “Go with Jiddah.”

            “But, Papa—”

            “Henri Jin, I will not tell you twice. If you force me to, that monkey will be going to live with Ahmed.”

            Henri gasped and swept his monkey into his arms, keeping his back to his father as if to protect the toy. Scrambling to his feet, he took his great-grandmother’s hand and started to tow her toward the hallway.

            “Hurry, Jiddah!”

            Talia suppressed a laugh as she watched the two leave. “If only he would obey me like that.”

            Bane lumbered up behind her and slipped his arms around her, drew her back against the length of his hard body. She closed her eyes in bliss and relaxed, responding to the magic of his protective touch, like the security of her mother’s old blanket. All her worries seemed to leave her, as if his body purposefully pulled them away from her, took them on.

            He kissed her ear through her hair and murmured, “Our cub will obey you, my love. I think these past few days have truly made an impression on him.”

            “Is that possible with a two-year-old?” She rested her hands over his where they overlapped her flat belly.

            “It is with ours. You shall see. You know I never fail to successfully complete a mission.”

            “True.” Talia turned to face him, still in his embrace. “But being good parents is our toughest mission yet.”

            “Agreed. But have faith, my dear. I think you will see a change in our boy. I wish you could have been in Jaipur with us. I took many pictures and videos to share with you.”

            “I can’t wait to see them, especially his elephant ride.”

            “He cannot stop speaking of it.”

            Talia chuckled and received his kiss, long and sensual, his arms bringing her even closer. Yet he surprised her when he drew back with a new seriousness to his dark gaze, one that told her he would refuse his lust for now.

            “Come, my love, let us sit and talk,” he said.

            She followed him to the loveseat, enjoying the happy sounds of her son from his bedroom. Chateau Blanc had been so quiet! Almost too quiet, especially the first day, until she gradually had grown accustomed to the absence of Henri’s constant babble.

            They sat close, facing one another, Talia’s legs tucked up on the rich upholstery, her shoes having been discarded the minute she had entered the suite. She was disturbed by how Bane avoided her gaze. She could see him gathering his thoughts, a frown drawing familiar lines across his sloping brow. To encourage him, she gently took one of his hands in hers.

            “What is it, habibi?”

            Bane hesitated a moment longer before speaking, and when he did, his tone was gentle, solicitous, not straight forward and business-like as usual when he discussed League matters. Talia’s worries increased.

            “You may recall Abrams’s concerns about a woman in the village bazaar shortly before you left for France.”

            “Diya Panjabi’s daughter, you mean? The one Abrams said is a mercenary?”

            “Yes.”

            “What of her? Has she proven to be a threat?”

            “Perhaps. But not in the way we may have suspected.”

            “Perhaps?”

            “We apprehended her here in the palace, just outside our very door, in fact.”

            Talia felt the color drain from her face. “How did she get into the palace? Was she trying to reach Henri?”

            “No, Henri was nothing more to her than a curiosity or, as she called him, a breadcrumb. Because of his appearance and his closeness to Maysam, she had a hunch about his lineage. It made her want to find out if her hunch was correct.”

            “And her hunch was?”

            “That Henri is related to Maysam. And because she knows Maysam had but one child and that Henri could not be that child’s offspring, she wondered if perhaps you had survived Gotham. We both know it’s easy enough to see you in Henri.”

            “But how did she get into the palace?”

            “She duped one of Nashir’s men, one she has a personal relationship with, a sexual relationship. He brought her to his room. She got him drunk and slipped out. Davos was surveilling her the whole time, though, hoping she would be foolish and make a move. He had a gun on her as she listened outside my door.”

            “Listened to what? Was Henri with you?”

            “Yes. He had awoken from a bad dream; he was missing you. I was consoling him.”

            “She heard the two of you together!” Her cold hands withdrew from his, gripped her knees. “Tell me she is dead.”

            “She lives, as our prisoner. I have left her fate up to you, and with good reason.”

            “What possible good reason? She has to be eliminated—”

            “Talia.” He reclaimed her hand. “You must hear me out. What I must tell you will not be easy for you to hear or perhaps to understand. I am still trying to wrap my head around it myself.”

            So agitated by this potential threat to her family, Talia wanted to get up, to pace, but she could tell by the sudden iron strength in Bane’s grip that he wanted her close and focused for what was to come next. What on earth could be so important that he had not instantly killed the intruder? Their son had been within the mercenary’s reach!

            “Who sent her?” Talia demanded. “Who does she work for? Who would be foolish enough to threaten the League?”

            “Talia,” he said in the voice of her protector, of the young man who had raised her in the pit as father, brother, friend. The man who gently demanded her obedience as no one else could. “Listen to me, and you will understand.”

            She forced herself to settle, to sink deeper into the loveseat, to relax her rigid muscles, to breathe. To wait.

            “When I interrogated her, she made it clear that she is working for no one.”

            “You believe her?”

            “Considering what I have learned since, yes.”

            “And what have you learned?”

            Bane hesitated.

            “Tell me.”

            Another long moment of painful suspense as she watched him struggle with the answer, then finally it came: “She is the eldest daughter of Rā’s al Ghūl.”


	15. Chapter 15

            Bane’s words made no sense to Talia. A half-sister? That was impossible. Her mother had only one child, and if her father had begotten one with another woman, he would have told her. Wouldn’t he? True, her father had had many secrets—his position as Demon Head demanded it—but something as personal as another child, Talia’s sibling, surely he would have shared that information with her. When she was young, she had often told him how she wished she had a sibling to play and spar with, to share with. Yes, he would have told her about this Nyssa person; he had loved her and often expressed regret that she had no brother or sister. There was only one explanation, then—if Nyssa was her half-sister, then their father must not have known of her existence.

            “Talia.” Bane’s gentle voice drew her out of her shocked silence, his hand touching her cold cheek.

            “How…how do you know she’s telling the truth?”

            “A DNA test.”

            Of course Bane would be thorough and certain before revealing all of this.

            Slight anger, misplaced, tainted her inquiry. “When did this happen? Why am I just now hearing about it?”

            “We apprehended her the first night you were gone. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for certain she was who she claimed to be. I wanted you to enjoy your time away. If she had proven herself false, I would have immediately eliminated her. Barsad, Maysam, and Sanjana all think I still should. But I told them that decision should be yours and yours alone. You have the right to know the truth.”

            She stared at her hands folded in her lap, feeling numb and gutted. “What has she told you?”

            “That your father impregnated Diya Panjabi before he married your mother.”

            Talia’s heart went cold. “You mean he betrayed my mother?”

            “No, I would never say that. We both know how much he loved your mother. Nyssa simply said that when your father worked for Siddig, he would come to the village like the other men to seek female companionship, but once he had fallen under your mother’s spell, he never slept with Diya Panjabi again.”

            “Has she known who her father was all these years?”

            “She knew him only as Henri Ducard, a mercenary, until she saw his picture on the news following his death. She recognized him from a picture in their home, and when she confronted her mother about it, Diya told her the truth.”

            “So when she saw Henri and his family resemblance, she was trying to connect with me? Obviously, she didn’t believe I died in Gotham.”

            “I’m afraid there is more to her motivations than that. As your elder, she has laid claim to the Demon Head.”

            Talia almost laughed. “She can’t be serious.”

            “It would appear she is. After all, she risked her very life to make her claim. And you and I know the League’s steadfast beliefs about blood succession. I am in my position only by your desire and our brothers’ consent, but the claim by an elder child of Rā’s al Ghūl will supersede any of your decrees.”

            “She is no one. She has no training, no loyalty to my father’s organization. Why would she claim to? No doubt she bears him a grudge, as I once did; he never acknowledged her. How do we know she doesn’t want to destroy the League?”

            Bane’s eyes crinkled slightly in amusement. “You and I know no one can destroy our ancient organization. It has survived far more than an ambitious mercenary. Besides, I think there is more to Nyssa than revenge or ambition. I sensed many things while interrogating her, and you know I am never wrong in my intuitive deductions, habibati.”

            Talia stared. “You aren’t alarmed by her claims?”

            “I was at first, but I have had time to reflect and research. Understand, my love, I am not condoning a takeover. However, I am a servant of the League, as are you, though no longer in an official capacity; something Nyssa knows nothing about, by the way. She stills believes you are Demon Head. And as a servant of the League, I have taken an oath to abide by its rules and traditions, as have you. So we are in a delicate spot. We must take our emotions out of the equation, as hard as that may be, especially for you, considering what you have just learned.”

            Talia slipped away from the couch, paced across the room, arms wrapped about her chilled form. She adjusted the thermostat to lessen the air conditioning. Bane said nothing more, the room’s only sound being that of Henri’s faint conversation with Maysam.

            Her son’s safety in this situation with Nyssa was first and foremost, taking precedence over the ramifications to the League. Talia’s motherly instinct told her to kill Nyssa to keep her from potentially letting the world know of Henri’s existence, a world that would manipulate and harm the boy to get to his mother and father. But her years of training and leadership stayed her hand for now. She needed to honor her oath to the League. After all, stepping down had been her decision, one that her brethren had tried to discourage. She may not officially lead them any longer, but she was still an integral part of the League’s fabric, the heir to the Demon and his revered legacy, and she needed to discuss this situation with the leadership before making a decision. But first, she required more information.

            She turned back to Bane. “Take me to her.”

#

            Nyssa’s patience had reached an end a long time ago. When her guards brought breakfast that morning, she had angrily demanded once again to see Bane. The men looked at her stonily and said nothing, shutting the door in her face. She shouted for them to send for Barsad, but that demand was ignored as well. Maybe Bane and Barsad weren’t even in the palace anymore. Had they perhaps fled? No, if they were afraid of what she knew, they would’ve just killed her, Talia or no Talia. Maybe they were gone on League business. Either way, it pissed her off that she was left to rot in this room with no news about her own fate or the fate of her mother. How long was this going to go on?

            She spent an hour and a half exercising to burn off some frustration, stripped to her underwear, working hard. Just as she finished wiping herself down with the towel she had used for her morning shower—the bastards at least let her stay clean—she heard new voices in the corridor. She stopped breathing. Was that a woman’s voice? Sounded like it. And not Maysam; her voice was deeper.

            Nyssa hurriedly dressed and sat on her bed as the voices drew closer. Definitely a woman. And a man’s voice—distinctly Bane’s. Her muscles locked up, but she breathed deeply and forced them to relax. Suddenly the air around her seemed charged with electricity, as if it followed Bane everywhere. She remembered it well when he had interrogated her. Seemed ages ago.

            A key in the lock, then the door opened. The first face she saw was Barsad’s scowling countenance, dark with heavy stubble, eyes as cold as a Siberian winter. He entered, pistol in hand. Was this to be her execution?

            “Get up,” he ordered, coming to stand in front of her, out of reach.

            Nyssa glanced at the doorway, saw only a guard standing there, watching. Slowly she got to her feet, eying Barsad. “What is this?”

            The scuff of a shoe, movement in the doorway. The guard had stepped back, giving way to Bane’s massive bulk, which filled the threshold, his scarred expression set, alert, protective. He paused there before stepping inside, just to the right, revealing a small woman who had been behind him.

            Talia.

            Somehow Nyssa managed not to physically react in any way to the sight of her fashionably-dressed half-sister. She merely turned to face Talia, and the two of them considered each other with matched stoicism. Was Talia moved at all by the reality of meeting her only sibling, as Nyssa was, though she hated to admit it? Had Talia lain awake at night, like she had on occasion, wondering what life would have been like with a sibling?

            “Bane told me there is a resemblance,” Talia said at last. “I admit I see it.”

            “So, sister, have you come for a simple chat before Barsad here executes me, or have you come to acknowledge my claim?”

            Bane drew a wooden chair from the corner nearest him and offered it to Talia as the guard closed the door.

            “Please, sit,” Talia said to Nyssa, gesturing to the bed as she settled upon the chair.

            Cool as a cucumber, Nyssa observed of her sister. Was there any scrap of a heart in there? No sign of it yet.

            The only images she had seen of Talia were those of her Gotham alter ego, Miranda Tate, and it amazed her how the woman standing before her now seemed like a totally different person. A modern Mata Hari. Miranda Tate’s pictures showed some warmth in her red-lipped smile as she posed with flawless make-up and perfect hairdo. Talia lacked the china-doll cosmetics, and her hair was shorter than Miranda’s. The most noteworthy difference between Nyssa and her sister were Talia’s eyes. Blue like their father’s. An odd twinge of jealousy in Nyssa for that shared trait. And cold like their father’s eyes as well. Calculating. A hundred things going on in Talia’s head, hidden behind that iron curtain of sapphire.

            “Bane has told me of your claim,” Talia said, her voice exotic and measured, a hint of French, was it? Probably had gotten that from the snooty private school their father had sent her to in Switzerland, according to what she heard after Gotham’s siege. He certainly hadn’t been concerned about his first daughter’s education. Had he even known the life she had led, how she had followed in his footsteps as a mercenary?

            “Claim?” Nyssa echoed. “I’m our father’s eldest daughter; that makes it a right, not a claim. You must have the DNA results by now.”

            “You have no idea what it means to be Demon Head. You are like a child who sees a shiny toy in a store and wants it because it’s shiny, even though you don’t know how to use it.”

            Nyssa grinned. “And did you come out of the womb knowing how to be Demon Head?”

            “I had years of indoctrination, training, living among my highly-skilled brothers before I assumed command.”

            “Living with our father.” Nyssa’s grin turned to a sneer. “Living the life I should have had, but he discarded me like garbage.”

            “If you hate our father so, why do you want to follow in his footsteps?”

            There it was— _our_ father! Nyssa wanted to smirk in vindication.

            “Or is it because of that hate? Some sort of revenge, is it, Nyssa? To lead his organization as a way to prove a point? To take what he denied you? The League’s ideals are lofty, and so its commander’s ideals must be also. Your reasons are self-serving.”

            “You don’t know anything about my reasons or ideals.”

            Talia raised one eyebrow and clasped her hands in her lap like an attentive student. “Perhaps, then, you will enlighten me.”

            Nyssa waited, glanced around the small space. “I’d think you’d provide better accommodations for your sister. Maybe if I was in more comfortable surroundings, I’d be more forthcoming. And I want to speak to my mother.” She shot Barsad a black glance. “No doubt you’ve scared the shit out of her, especially keeping me here this long. She’s not well, you know.”

            “Your mother’s fine,” Barsad growled. “And healthy. You can thank us for the medication she’s been taking.”

            So that was why Dr. Misra suddenly had the antibiotic he had been lacking when her mother had first been ill. Shit. But, of course, they had wanted her healthy, so her daughter had no reason to remain in the village.

            “A room is being prepared for you upstairs, just down the hallway from mine, in fact. Your mother will be allowed to visit. You will both, however, remain under guard.”

            “You think I’m going to call the _Washington Post_ or something?” Nyssa laughed harshly. “If I wanted to expose you, don’t you think I would have called someone before you ever caught me snooping around?”

            “Who says you haven’t?”

            “Because, if I had, do you really think my mother would still be here? I wouldn’t be stupid enough to keep her within your reach if I was going to rat you out, sister.”

            “ _Half_ -sister.” Talia smirked.

            “Not the best half. Tell me about _your_ mother.”

            Now it was Bane’s turn to growl. “You will watch your tongue when speaking of Talia’s parents, or you will lose the privileges she has offered you.”

            “Melisande must have died in prison, yeah?”

            Bane’s fists clenched, and Talia made a barely perceptible movement with her hand to keep him at bay. Interesting reaction, Nyssa thought. The big grizzly bear cared about Melisande. Hmm, how much and in what way? Maybe his relationship with Melisande and not just his ties to Talia explained why the El Fadils allowed him to live here.

            “My mother,” Talia answered, “is of no concern to you.”

            “She sacrificed herself for my father’s sake, so I _am_ interested in her. Obviously, she was a brave, selfless woman, like my mother. Something else we have in common.”

            Talia gave her an indulgent smile. “So you seem to have some knowledge of my past life. Rest assured, I know about yours as well. Since learning of your visit to your mother, my brothers have been gathering intel on you.”

            “What’s to know? My father abandoned me. I’ve been a mercenary since I left here years ago. I’ve been married and divorced. I could have told you all that myself, saved you some time and resources.”

            “They have told me more than that. It seems you are well-known and well-respected in the merc world, if not well-liked. Your skills may now save your life.”

            “How’s that? You planning on a fight to the death, little sister? Winner takes all?” Nyssa glanced slyly at Bane and licked her lips. “And I do mean all.”

            A hint of anger darkened Talia’s eyes. Nyssa almost laughed. Was she really in love with Bane? Her sister didn’t strike Nyssa as someone capable of romantic love.

            “You wouldn’t stand a chance,” Barsad said to Nyssa.

            Talia gave Barsad an appreciative but staying look. “I am referring to your skills helping you to survive the League’s training. It is more grueling than anything you’ve done in your life.”

            “So you’re not going to oppose my claim?”

            “I must uphold the League’s traditions and beliefs. And the League believes in blood succession. You are Rā’s al Ghūl’s eldest daughter. _If_ you can pass the training and initiation, you are the rightful heir to the Demon Head. I won’t lie and say that pleases me, and I certainly will not champion your cause. I don’t know you, and so I don’t trust you, and I don’t believe your motivations are pure, as mine were on the day I accepted the mantle. While I loved our father, you hate him. That hate could drive you to destroy what he built.”

            Hurried footsteps sounded in the hall. An alarmed, muffled voice beyond the door distracted Talia. Someone knocked.

            Bane cracked the door open. “What is it?”

            Nyssa caught the glimpse of an older man, an Indian. “Pardon the intrusion, sir, but Mr. Barsad’s presence is requested upstairs. It’s urgent, sir, very urgent.”

            Immediate concern on the faces in the room, personal concern, not business. All menace left Barsad, and he looked to Talia.

            “Go, brother,” Talia said.

            Without hesitation, Barsad left the room. Talia stood, her veneer of coolness already restored.

            “My men will escort you to your room when it is ready,” Talia said. “We will speak again soon.”

            “I want to see my mother.”

            “It will be arranged.” Talia glanced at Bane, some of the apprehension creeping back, then she glided from the room. Bane tossed Nyssa one last, malevolent look then followed Talia.

#

            Hisham was already meters ahead of Barsad, moving quickly toward the elevator near the kitchen. Barsad ran to catch up.

            “Is it Sanjana?”

            “Yes, sir. She is experiencing some contractions.”

            “Damn it, it’s too early.”

            “They came on suddenly. Madam is with her. They sent for you. Sanjana is in some distress.”

            Barsad cursed again. This was all that fucking Nyssa’s fault. The stress she had caused Sanjana was sure as hell the cause of her early labor. If something happened to his kid or Sanjana because of her, he’d kill her, no matter what Talia or Bane said.

            “Do you think she’ll need a doctor, sir?”

            “I’ll send for the League doc. He hadn’t planned on coming until closer to Sanjana’s due date. Damn it!” Stepping inside the waiting elevator, he jabbed the button for his floor.

            “But can he get here quickly, sir? Hopefully Sanjana will be fine, but… I’m sorry, sir. I should not be talking this way. Forgive me; I am just concerned for the girl.”

            “I appreciate that, Hisham. We’ll do whatever’s necessary. We have to stay positive for Sanjana’s sake, all right?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            As soon as the elevator door opened on his floor, Barsad raced down the hallway, leaving Hisham in his wake. He burst into his room to find Sanjana in bed, Maysam bent over her, placing a damp cloth to her forehead. Both women turned to him with immense relief lightening their expressions.

            “John,” they both said at once.

            Without removing his shoes, Barsad sat beside Sanjana on the bed, taking her hand.

            “It’s the baby, John,” Sanjana said in a panic. “He’s coming too soon. It’s too soon. He can’t come now. What do we do?”

            “Try to stay calm, sweetheart. Tell me what’s going on.”

            “You know how restless I was last night, but I just thought it was the normal discomfort. I didn’t say anything to you this morning, but I’ve felt worse and worse. But it’s too early; it’s too early, John.”

            “Easy now. Just breathe. It’s not all that early. You’re due in less than three weeks.”

            “But three weeks…! The doctor isn’t even here yet.”

            “I’m going to call him right away, but when I spoke to him a couple of days ago, he was in Beijing. It’ll take him a while to get here.”

            A contraction widened Sanjana’s eyes, and she clutched her belly, gasping.

            “It’s all right, baby.” Barsad stroked her sweaty hair. “Breathe. Just breathe. It’ll pass.”

            Once the contraction died away, Sanjana lay back, tightly holding his hand.

            “John,” Maysam said, “I can send for Dr. Misra. But it goes without saying that you can’t be seen here.”

            Barsad exchanged an alarmed glance with Sanjana. “I wanna be here when she delivers. I promised her I would be.”

            “I understand,” Maysam said with forced calm, “but that might not be an option, depending on what he finds. The important thing is that we first make sure this is just an early birth, that there’s no danger. Perhaps it’s false labor.”

            “She’s right, John,” Sanjana said, already looking tired. She squeezed his hand. “I want you to be here, too, but we have to make sure the baby is okay.”

            “I’ll be here with her,” Maysam assured.

            “And Talia,” Sanjana added. “She told me she would be, but now that she knows her sister is here—”

            “Fuck her sister,” Barsad spat then caught himself. “I’m sorry, ladies. Don’t worry, Sanji, Talia will be here for you, I’m sure.”

            He waffled with this new option. Misra was the El Fadils’s physician, so Barsad knew the man had to be at least halfway competent…and discreet.

            Sanjana drew him closer, whispered desperately, “Please, bunny. I’m afraid.”

            He kissed her. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, darlin’. You’re going to get through this just fine. Maysam will call Dr. Misra, and I’ll call the League doc right now. Hisham,” he called to the servant who had been standing just inside the door, “stay with Sanjana while we make our calls. And I need to talk to Bane and Talia, too, then I’ll be back, Sanji. Don’t worry; everything will be fine, you’ll see.”


	16. Chapter 16

            Bane disconnected the phone call and leaned back in his office chair, drawing Henri’s attention.

            “Now we play, Mama?” the boy asked, sitting on Talia’s lap in a nearby chair.

            She kissed his forehead. “You go ahead, sweetheart. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

            “Wait for you,” Henri said, squeezing his stuffed monkey.

            Except for Talia’s time spent with Nyssa, Henri had been clinging to her ever since her return home. When his parents had sat down to call the League’s regional commanders and summon them to the palace to discuss Nyssa, Talia had encouraged him to go play with his train set. But Henri had insisted upon sitting with her. Bane was glad of it, for his son’s presence kept Talia calm and gave her something to do with her hands while they talked with their brothers on speaker.

            “I will tell Jiddah that our brothers will be arriving tonight,” Talia said. “She will want to prepare the kitchen staff and have rooms readied. You’re sure Nashir is okay with this?”

            “Okay? Doubtful, but he will stand for it as long as our brothers arrive under cover of darkness, as we’ve instructed, and leave the same way, and do not linger more than one night.”

            Ever since he had given Talia the news about Nyssa, Bane wanted to allow her to share her emotional reaction, which she had yet to reveal. He could tell she was still processing everything. But before he could broach the subject now, an anticipated knock sounded at their door, followed by Barsad’s appearance.

            “Unca John!” Henri cried, sitting up but still not abandoning his mother.

            Barsad crossed the room, steps dragging, expression haunted.

            “How is Sanjana?” Talia asked. “Dr. Misra is here?”

            “Yeah, just arrived. He’s coming up the elevator right now.” He collapsed into a matching upholstered chair near Talia and dragged a hand down his flushed face. “I didn’t wanna leave her. She’s so damned scared.”

            Henri gasped at the profane word and looked up at Talia as if expecting her to rebuke Barsad. Talia gave the boy a cautioning look.

            “Are you sure you don’t want to play with your trains now, habibi?”

            “You play, Mama.”  
            “I’m speaking to Uncle John right now. He is very worried about Sanjana.”

            “Why?”

            “Because his baby might be born very soon. John is going to stay here with us while the doctor is with Sanjana. We must cheer him up.”

            Henri held out his monkey. “Hug monkey, Unca John.”

            “Thanks, kid, but no. You hug him for me.”

            “Okay.” And Henri did just that.

            Talia reached across the tea table and rested her hand on Barsad’s arm. “Everything will be all right, John.”

            He combed his fingers through his short hair, something it appeared he had been doing for quite some time, for tufts stuck up in all directions.

            “This is Nyssa’s fault,” Barsad said in a scratchy voice.

            Bane knew that black, sightless stare of his sniper. Deadly and of singular purpose.

            “Ever since she came here, Sanjana’s been going crazy, afraid we’ll be betrayed. It’s caused her to go into early labor; I just know it. If anything happens to Sanjana or the baby, I swear I’ll end her, Talia, sister or not.”

            “It won’t come to that,” Talia said.

            “Jesus, I need a cigarette,” Barsad moaned.

            “Dr. Haqqani will be here by this evening,” Bane said. “And, remember, we already have the incubator.”

            “Never thought we’d need it,” Barsad said, one heel tapping on the rug.

            “Sanjani is close to her due date, brother,” Bane said. “In fact, she may be closer than predicted. Projecting such a date is an imperfect science.” He smiled mildly at Talia. “I remember when Melisande’s time drew near. I couldn’t sleep, I was so excited and terrified, and she wasn’t even carrying my child.” He chuckled. “Sometimes it seemed like it, though, since I was so close to her for all those months. We learned together, she and I. And, in the end, everything worked out, even in those trying circumstances. So we must remain optimistic for Sanjana.”

            “I’m trying, damn it,” Barsad muttered. “I said everything positive I could think of before I left her, whether I believed it or not.” He chewed on his stubby fingernails. “I shouldn’t have left her. She needs me.” He drew in a long draught of air through his flared nostrils, said, “Fuck Dr. Misra,” and got to his feet, started for the door.

            “Barsad!” Talia cried.

            Bane rushed in pursuit, caught his lieutenant just before he could open the suite door.

            “Damn it, Bane, let me go.”

            Bane’s grip on Barsad’s arm allowed for little hope of escape. Calmly he held Barsad’s tortured gaze and ground out, “You will remain with us, brother. I understand your desire to comfort Sanjana, but your appearance with Dr. Misra present will only upset and worry her further. She knows it’s not just you that your presence would potentially imperil.”

            “Misra is Nashir’s guy. He’s not going to say anything to anyone who might screw the El Fadils.”

            “That’s not a chance any of us can afford to take, especially your child, Barsad. Even if Misra never said anything willingly, we both know if he ever fell into the hands of one of the El Fadils’s many enemies, he might give us up as leverage to save his own life.”

            Talia carried Henri across the room to stand near, as if to make sure Barsad considered her son. Henri looked worried now, hugging his monkey close, his brow furrowed.

            “Don’t be mad, Unca John,” the child said in a small voice.

            Barsad frowned at the boy, the tension leaving his muscles. “Sorry, kid. I’m not angry; I’m just frustrated.”

            “Hug monkey.”

            “C’mere. I’ll hug both of you.”

            Barsad held out his hands. When Talia hesitated, Bane freed his lieutenant and nodded ever so slightly to Talia to assure her. She surrendered Henri, who kissed Barsad’s cheek once he was in his arms.

            “Don’t be sad, Unca John. Let’s play trains.”

            They moved to the living area. Bane settled on the loveseat with his arm around Talia, while Barsad and Henri sat on the rug near the train tracks that circled the large coffee table.

            “Choo, choo!” Henri cried. “Make ’em go, Unca John.”

            As Barsad absently took the controls and started the colorful electric train on its way, Bane said, “Our brothers will also arrive tonight, Barsad. We just got off the phone with them. Your presence, of course, will not be required at the council.”

            “I’ll be there if I can.”

            “There’s no need,” Talia said.

            “Yeah, there is. I want a vote in this business. And you know what that vote’ll be.”

            “We cannot discuss this matter with our emotions,” Bane cautioned. “That is why it might be best if you are not there, brother.”

            “I have a right to be there.”

            “Indeed, you do. However, as your commander, I can bar you since you are not a regional commander. I won’t, of course, but I will have to take your input with a grain of salt.”

            “That won’t be a first,” Barsad grumbled with a hint of his old humor. When Henri’s energetic movements accidentally knocked the train off its tracks, Barsad set it aright.

            “The timing on all of this is terrible, I know,” Talia said.

            Barsad eyed her. “You seem awful calm about finding out you have a sister.”

            “I haven’t truly processed it all yet. I’d rather not think about it, to be honest, not until your baby is born and we know everyone is well. That’s more important to me.”

            “Thanks. I appreciate that.” He watched the train. “I just wish I could be there with her.”

            “Haqqani will be here as quickly as possible,” Bane said. “You may still be able to witness the birth.”

            “And if not,” Talia gave Barsad an impish smile, “I’m sure there will be more Barsad babies to come.”

#

            Time tortured Barsad. He did his best to keep himself together, if for no one’s sake than Henri’s. Whenever he sighed or said something about Sanjana and the baby, Henri would look up from playing, his smile dying. At one point, the child forced the stuffed monkey upon Barsad, who relented and held the plaything until Henri was distracted again by his other toys.

            A servant brought lunch to the suite; Hisham’s duties kept him in the infirmary with Maysam, at Barsad’s fervent request. Though not comfortable with helping Dr. Misra in such a procedure, Hisham’s years of service and friendship with Barsad made the request impossible to refuse.

            Abrams joined them in the small dining room, bringing with him an update from the infirmary.

            “The baby hasn’t been born yet, but the doctor doesn’t see any signs of distress. He doesn’t think it’ll be long now.”

            Barsad wilted in his chair with relief. “How’s Sanjana?”

            “Hanging in there. She said she’d feel better knowing that I was updating you.”

            “How’s my grandmother holding up?” Talia asked.

            “She’s a trooper, of course.”

            Even with this heartening news, Barsad ate little of the meal, often getting up to pace on the adjoining veranda.

            Before today, the enormity of impending fatherhood had been his only concern when it came to the birth of his child. Now, all he cared about was Sanjana and the baby making it through the day. He hadn’t felt this weak and helpless since he had accidentally shot and killed his own brother decades ago. He felt just as responsible when it came to Sanjana’s life now, for he was the one who had pursued her and claimed her as his own, planted his seed. She would’ve been better off without him.

            After lunch, while Talia, Abrams, and Henri returned to the living area, Barsad lingered on the balcony. Bane joined him, and they stood side by side, looking out over the compound ablaze in the afternoon sun. Some of the El Fadil children played on the shaded side of the courtyard below. Sweat trickled down Barsad’s face. He thought he had wanted to be alone but found Bane’s presence comforting. Even more surprising was when Bane put an arm around his shoulders, for Bane was physically demonstrative only with Talia and Henri.

            “Be strong, brother,” Bane rumbled. “We are all here for you, you and Sanjana and the babe.”

            An unexpected lump rose in Barsad’s throat, and he couldn’t look at his friend. “I know. Thanks.”

            “When you are ready, come join us. I am sure we will hear good news soon.” With a pat on Barsad’s shoulder, Bane left.

            Something about hearing Bane say those optimistic words gave Barsad new strength and belief. Yes, he needed to believe; he needed to stay focused and positive. Hadn’t his League training taught him that? All things learned for the field also pertained to life. When flashes of Sanjana’s fearful, pained face reared up in his mind, he replaced the images with ones from their past, times when her beautiful smile filled him up and her laughter rang in his ears. Those visions bolstered him, fought against his fear of losing Sanjana as he had lost his only brother back in West Virginia.

            When he joined the others, Talia was reading Henri a story while Bane and Abrams quietly talked about the impending council of the League’s commanders. Soon Talia carried Henri’s sleepy form to his bedroom for a nap.

            “Want to wait for baby,” Henri protested.

            “Maybe by the time you wake up, the baby will have come,” Talia soothed. “In fact, if you go to sleep like a good boy, I bet the baby will come even faster.”

            “I be good.”

            Bane chuckled as the two disappeared down the hallway. “I am not sure who is more excited for Barsad’s child—Henri or Barsad.”

            Though Barsad appreciated Bane’s attempt at humor during such a trying time, he had no energy to respond in kind as he usually would.

            “He seems to be trying hard to behave himself since Talia got back,” Abrams said.

“Looks like your strategy of taking his mother away from him for a while left an impression on him.”

            “Let us hope it lasts,” Bane said.

            Barsad realized how he had taken Henri for granted since his birth. Bane’s kid—healthy and happy, surrounded by love. He had never considered anything else for the boy. Talia’s pregnancy and delivery had been smooth; Henri had been relatively free of illness and injury since, though the little daredevil often tested the limits of his body. Barsad knew Bane considered the same things now and was thanking his lucky stars. Barsad vowed he would never take anything about his own child for granted.

            The sound came so faintly Barsad thought he had imagined it, but Bane looked at him just then, as if he had heard the same thing.

            “Was that—?”

            Barsad didn’t wait for Bane to finish the question. He bolted for the door.

            “Barsad,” Bane called, a command in his voice.

            “I’m not going out,” Barsad insisted. “I just thought I heard a baby cry.”

            Bane lumbered over to join him near the door, which Barsad cracked open an inch. Both listened. Yes, there it was! A distant squall, so faint but unmistakable from down the hallway. Barsad thought his knees would buckle, especially when Bane put a heavy, congratulating paw on his shoulder.

            “Welcome to fatherhood,” Bane said then nodded to Abrams. “Tell Talia.”

            Barsad listened longer, the cries soon dying away, replaced by the pounding of his heart in his ears.

            “I can’t hear anything now.”

            “No need to worry,” Bane said. “They are behind a closed door, remember, and are no doubt cleaning and swaddling your little pup.”

            “Jesus, I hope they’re okay.”

            Talia rushed into the room, Abrams in her wake. “You heard the baby?” Talia asked in the tempered voice she used whenever Henri was napping. She quickly glided over to them, and Bane stepped back. Abrams joined them in a comical foursome crowded near the cracked door.

            “I can’t hear it anymore,” Barsad said, disappointed.

            Talia put her ear near the door, and they all listened again.

            “Abrams,” Barsad said. “Go check.”

            “They’re not gonna want me in there right now.”

            “I don’t give a shit.” Barsad’s grip on his arm urged Abrams closer to the door. “Just stick your head in to make sure they’re both okay.”

            “And ask if it’s a boy or a girl,” Talia added.

            “All right, all right,” Abrams said. “Don’t yank my arm outta the socket. I’m going.”

            Bane closed the door after Abrams.

            Talia embraced Barsad. “Congratulations, John.” She kissed his cheek.

            “We’re not outta the woods yet,” Barsad said. “Remember, this is a preemie. We might have to move him or her to a hospital.”

            “Hopefully that won’t be necessary.” Talia tried to smile with confidence.

            “I’ve arranged for a helicopter to be here within half an hour, if there is a need, brother,” Bane assured him. “We will fly your child to Kothari Medical Centre in Bikaner.”

            “I’m going with ’em.”

            “You know that is not possible.”

            “Oh, it’s possible. I can disguise myself.”

            “I cannot allow it, brother.”

            “If it was your kid, you’d do it, Bane.”

            “Even if I could allow it, you know Sanjana will know better. Sanjana, Maysam, and Abrams would go.”

            “Barsad.” Talia touched his arm to distract him. “Let’s not argue about something that isn’t even necessary at this point and hopefully won’t be. Let’s sit down and wait for Abrams to return.”

            They didn’t have long to wait. Abrams slipped back inside the suite, red-faced and smiling. Barsad jumped to his feet.

            “Are they all right?”

            “Yeah, both are fine, though the kid’s a bit on the small size. Understandable, of course.”

            “A boy or a girl?” Talia prompted him.

            Abrams grinned and said nothing just to torture Barsad, who rushed around the sofa to confront him.

            “Abrams,” Talia admonished. “Tell us.”

            “A boy.”

            Barsad halted, staring slack-jawed. “A boy…”

            “Yep.” Abrams awkwardly slapped Barsad’s shoulder then moved around him to sit down.

            “He’s all right?” Barsad needed to hear it again.

            “Seems to be. Maysam said he’ll go in the incubator to keep warm, and the doc will set him up with some oxygen just to help him breathe easier. He’ll monitor him until your doc gets here.”

            Though Barsad was glad to have a physician on hand, he wished Misra was gone long enough for him to see Sanjana and the baby. Their son.

            Jesus, was he going to cry?

            “Come, brother,” Bane invited. “Sit back down and relax. All is well.”

            “Henri will be so excited,” Talia said. “He will have a little brother to play with. I just need to somehow convince him that he’s going to have to wait a while before your son can keep up with him.”

            They all laughed, even Barsad as he slumped into a chair, feeling like a sandbag that had been cut open and held upside down.

            “What about a name?” Abrams asked. “Did you guys already decide on something?”

            Barsad nodded, tried to find his voice. “Yeah, we did. We agreed if it was a girl, we’d name her after Sanjana’s mother…”

            “And a boy?” Talia prodded.

            “If it was a boy…we’d name him James…Jimmy.” He swallowed hard. “After my brother.”

            Yep, sure as shit, he was going to cry.


	17. Chapter 17

            Dr. Misra was called away from the palace to attend to a medical emergency in the village, and as soon as he left, Maysam sent Hisham to Bane’s suite to invite Barsad to see his son.

            “We will wait, brother,” Bane said. “You and Sanjana need some time alone with your child. When Sanjana feels ready, send for us.”

            “Want to see baby,” Henri said, having been awake from his nap for some time now.

            “Soon, sweetheart,” Talia said.

            Henri crossed his arms and made a petulant face.

            “Only a cub of mine who behaves gets the privilege of meeting the new babe,” Bane warned.

            Henri emitted a gentle whine and fell back on the couch in frustrated surrender.

            “Don’t worry, kid,” Barsad said. “We’ll get you in before the doc comes back.”

            Just as Barsad hurried into the hallway, the elevator doors opened not far away, and Nyssa stepped out with two guards. Barsad’s hackles rose, his steps faltered. Just as Nyssa marched past the infirmary door, the cries of his child inside drew everyone’s attention. Nyssa’s eyebrows raised in curiosity, but her guards kept her moving. Barsad waited for her to draw near.

            “Is that what sent you running from downstairs?” she asked with feigned interest. “Sounds like a newborn to me.”

            Barsad scowled at the guards. “Her room’s ready?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Barsad stepped nose to nose with her, growled, “Be careful on your veranda; it’s a long ways down.”

            Nyssa grinned. “Will do, Daddy.” She chuckled. “Didn’t take you for parent material, Barsad.”

            “Get her outta my sight.”

            She chuckled again as one of the men prodded her, and Barsad stepped aside. Blood boiling, fists clenched, he watched her go until she was escorted into a room at the far end of the hallway. Damn it, there was no veranda in that room. With a snort, he turned back toward the infirmary.

            Quietly he opened the door and poked his head inside the dim room. Both Sanjana and Maysam, who sat on the opposite side of Sanjana’s bed from the incubator, looked to him with relieved, welcoming smiles. The baby had stopped crying when the door opened.

            “John,” Sanjana said sleepily, as if she had just awakened from a nap.

            Maysam hurried across the room as he entered. “Congratulations, John.” She touched his arm and stopped short of kissing his cheek before looking back at Sanjana. “I will leave you two alone.”

            “Thanks, Maysam,” Barsad said, his throat unexpectedly tightening, Nyssa forgotten. “For everything.”

            “I’m glad I could help. Take your time. Misra should be gone a while, but don’t worry—we can call him back if he’s needed, but the baby seems to be doing fine.”

            She offered him an encouraging smile, but Barsad thought he caught something almost wistful in her eyes. Then she was gone, closing the door behind her, and the only sounds in the infirmary were those of the baby’s heart monitor.

            Barsad couldn’t move right away, his feet like cold, heavy stones. This all seemed unreal, like a dream. His son lay just across the room, helpless, dependent on him, just as Sanjana was now. She looked happy but drained.

            “John,” she said softly, “come see our son.”

            His feet shuffled then took him across the room. Knees weakening again, he sank to the edge of the bed, taking Sanjana’s hand and kissing it. He didn’t know who to look at—Sanjana or the infant—but he couldn’t get enough of the sight of either of them.

            The baby’s eyes were closed, but the movement of his arms and legs within the swaddling told Barsad that he was awake. A blue and white crocheted hat warmed his head, his face—dark, but not as dark as Sanjana’s—was currently a mottled pink.

            “Maysam knitted that hat for him,” Sanjana said. “He’s so tiny, it only took minutes for her to do. She made matching booties for him, too, while I was sleeping. We need to keep him warm. The doctor said his body isn’t capable yet of doing it.”

            Considering the tubing attached to his son’s nose, Barsad said, “How long will he have to be on oxygen?”

            “The doctor doesn’t think long. He said, everything considered, his lungs sound strong.”

            Barsad smiled at the little bundle. “Have you been able to feed him?”

            “Yes. It’s not very easy, but Maysam said I will get the hang of it soon. I have to say, I’m so grateful to Maysam. She was wonderful during the birth. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”

            “I wish I could have been here for you. I started to come back, but Bane stopped me.”

            “I’m glad he did, bunny. I wanted you here, too, but it was too risky.”

            Barsad frowned, let the regret drift away, pleased that Sanjana appreciated Maysam. “How are you feeling, darlin’?”

            “Tired and sore. But happy.” She turned her head on the pillow to look at their child. “James.”

            “My brother would be honored.”

            “Henri will be so excited to have a little boy to play with. I don’t think he would know what to do with a girl.”

            “Yeah, Bane’s little peanut wanted to come with me to see James just now.”

            “You should fetch him.”

            “No, not yet.” He smiled. “I want you two all to myself for a minute. Never know when the doc will come back.”

            He retrieved Maysam’s chair and set it between Sanjana and the incubator. Then he took her hand again, and together, saying nothing, they watched their son drift to sleep, the warmth of the room enveloping them in total peace.

#

            Nyssa had half-expected that her room would be some closet-sized, rarely-used space with dust covers over the furniture, but instead her accommodations pleasantly surprised her. Not that her host and hostess had purposefully provided her with opulence and comfort; she knew better. But if this bedroom was the least desirable in the palace, aside from the employees’ rooms downstairs, she could only imagine what the rest of the rooms looked like. She had caught a glimpse of Bane’s suite the night of her capture, and even that limited view that been impressive.

            Her armed guards closed the door behind her without a word, and she wondered if they truly would let her mother visit.

            Late afternoon sun streamed through the room’s single, large window, which was dressed in white shears with pale golden designs and heavy draperies tied back, also designed with the same gold color, along with rich garnet borders with medallion designs. The red matched the main portion of the patterned carpet, while gold and green designs made up the wide border. The walls were the color of ripe wheat, the high ceiling white, brightened by two lit chandeliers. Ornate, matching oval mirrors hung on the wall to either side of the door; the rest of the wall decorations were pictures of the palace down through the years, as well as more traditional Arabic artwork. Below one mirror was a small table with two chairs of green and gold, across from it a golden settee. The rest of the room was taken up by a king-size bed with an array of garnet and gold pillows to match the gold and white bedclothes. At the foot of the bed was a couch and coffee table, facing the window, while to either side of the bed were matching nightstands, antiques like most everything in the room.

            She went to the window. No veranda like so many rooms in the palace. So what the hell was Barsad talking about? Asshole probably just thought he’d scare her. Well, he had a lot to learn, that one.

            The view looked out over the compound’s formidable wall and the village. She could make out the rooftop of her mother’s house far away. Frowning, she hoped her mother was not too anxious about all of this. But she knew better. Once they were reunited, Nyssa was confident she could ease at least some of her mother’s fears. But would Talia and Bane really allow them to see each other? They wouldn’t want her revealing to her mother the fact that three of the world’s most wanted criminals still lived, and if she did, then she would probably be signing her mother’s death warrant.

            Nyssa got her answer an hour later when her door opened, and there stood her bewildered mother with a guard.

            “Nyssa!” She rushed toward her daughter as the guard dropped a medium-sized, cloth bag inside the door and retreated.

            Nyssa got up from the bed to embrace her trembling mother.

            “I was so worried about you, betee. They have been asking me questions ever since you vanished, but they wouldn’t tell me anything except that you were alive.” She was crying now, clinging to Nyssa.

            “It’s okay, Maji.” Nyssa pried her mother away. “Don’t cry. Here, sit on the couch. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

            “I haven’t. How could I?”

            Nyssa found tissues on the nightstand and gave a handful to her mother as they sat together.

            “Oh, Nyssa, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” She wiped at her eyes. “Have they hurt you?”

            “I’m fine, Maji.” She forced a confident smile.

            “What do the El Fadils want with you? I told you to stay away from Ra’id. But you wouldn’t listen. You never listen to me. Why are they holding you here like a prisoner? There’s armed guards outside your door.”

            “I don’t need an armed guard, but they think I do, for some reason.”

            “What do you mean? You don’t want to escape?”

            “It’s not a matter of escape.”

            “And why did they have me pack a bag?” Her mother gestured toward the door. “Are we going somewhere?”

            “Not just yet.”

            “Nyssa, tell me what on earth is going on. They said I wouldn’t be going back to my home.”

            Nyssa hid her alarm at this. The bag meant only one thing for her mother—either she was going to be protected and privileged because her daughter was to be the Demon Head, or it meant they were going to kill her.

            “Maji, just hush for a minute, and I’ll tell you everything, okay?”

            Her mother blew her nose. “This has to do with your father, doesn’t it? Oh, why couldn’t you let him go, betee, like I did?”

            “You’ve never let him go, Maji. We both know that. You still have his picture in your house.”

            Her mother stared at the crumpled tissue. “Well…it’s a nice picture. It reminds me of when I was young and pretty. When a man wanted me.”

            “Stop it. Now listen.”

            “It’s Maysam, isn’t it? She’s mad because you were snooping around about that little boy. I told you—”

            “Maji, stop. Will you just let me explain?”

            Her mother fidgeted with the tissue, reminding Nyssa of Bane’s restless hands. Ol’ Twitchy Fingers. That’s what her ex-husband had called him during the Gotham siege.

            “I’m sorry, betee, but you just don’t know what I’ve been going through since you disappeared.”

            “I’m sorry I caused you to worry, but if I had warned you ahead of time, you just would’ve tried to stop me, and we would’ve had a big fight.”

            “Stop you from what? What did you do that night?”

            “I used Ra’id to get inside the palace. I needed information about that little boy. I needed to know if he’s my nephew, if my half-sister is alive.”

            “Oh, Nyssa—”

            “And he is, Maji. And Talia is alive. She’s here. I met her.”

            Finally her mother was speechless, but it lasted only an instant. “Did you inform the authorities?”

            “The authorities? Of course not. I need her.”

            “Need her? For what? You don’t know her. You may share the same father, but you are nothing like her. Look what she tried to do to Gotham. You aren’t evil like she is.”

            “No, but I’m ambitious, Maji. I want what my father withheld from me.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “The League of Shadows. His organization. After he died, Talia assumed the Demon Head. But, as elder child, the honor should’ve gone to me. And I mean to claim it now.”

            “Why would Talia believe you are her sister?”

            “I let them test my DNA. They can’t deny me.”

            “They can’t deny your paternity, betee, but they can deny your claim by killing you.”

            “If they were going to do that, I’d be dead already.” Nyssa said this more for her mother’s peace of mind than because of any true belief that she wouldn’t end up dead from one of Barsad’s bullets. “The League is an ancient organization with age-old traditions. One of them is the line of succession.”

            “And what does my daughter know about the League?”

            “I learned as much as I could after I found out who my father really was. They’re the Holy Grail of organizations in the merc world. They’re legendary. Criminal organizations the world over fear them, as do the corrupt everywhere, like politicians and the one percent.”

            “You admire an organization that attempted to exterminate one of the world’s largest cities?”

            “Admire? I don’t know if I’d go that far, Maji. It’s too early for that, and I haven’t been given my birthright yet.”

            Her mother took hold of her hands, turned fully toward her. “You can’t be serious about this, Nyssa. Your father hurt you; he hurt both of us. If you think this will punish him, it won’t. He’s dead, he’s dust.”

            “Don’t you see? All my life, I’ve been nothing. I was discarded trash, roaming the world with no purpose, no authority.”

            “You are not trash! Don’t ever say that. How can you believe such a thing? You are an intelligent, beautiful woman. You are my daughter.”

            “I’m just another mercenary, Maji. Sure, I’m good at what I do, but I want more. I want to have a purpose. I want to _do_ something. I want to lead. Look at Talia—she’s the leader of a powerful organization; she had a mother and a father; now she has Bane and their child, and this beautiful place to live.”

            “Bane?” Her mother reared back in fear, as if Bane were in the room with them.

            “Yes, he and Talia both survived. Henri is their child.”

            “This is too much, Nyssa. We have to find a way to notify the authorities.”

            “Even if I wanted to, there’s no way either one of us is going to be allowed the freedom to do that, Maji. But if I’m to claim my birthright, I’ll need Talia and Bane. A coup isn’t going to get me anywhere except dead.”

            Her mother got up to pace the room. “This is too much. I can’t believe you’ve gotten us into this, all because of your father. Why did I ever sleep with that man?”

            “Maji, listen to me. All my life, I’ve wanted something better for you than this pathetic little village, this place where your life is ruled by fear of the family in this palace. You’ve been little more than a prisoner here. Once I’m Demon Head, you’re not going to want for anything or ever need to feel afraid again. I promise.”

            “All I want is for my daughter to live. What you are doing will get you killed. Do you really think Bane will let you depose Talia? Obviously he worships that woman.”

            “I think he respects the League just as much, and that means he respects their rules and traditions. And maybe, after all these years, now that he has a child, maybe he wouldn’t mind Talia stepping down. Who knows?”

            “You can’t trust those two, Nyssa.”

            “I didn’t say I do, but I want to see how this plays out. I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, Maji. I promise.”

            “I’m not worried about me; I’m worried about my only child.” She stopped near the window and looked toward her home, arms wrapped around her as if for warmth.

            Nyssa went to her, put an arm around her. Her mother rested her head against Nyssa’s shoulder, tears trailing down her cheeks.

            “I just want to go home, betee. Both of us. It is no palace, true, but it’s our home. How can we ever get back there now?”

            “We probably can’t; I’ll be honest. But that doesn’t mean what’s ahead isn’t going to be a positive change. You have to look at it that way.”

            “I’m behind a locked door, guarded by armed thugs led by a mass murderer. It’s difficult to look at our future as anything guaranteed, Nyssa.”

#

            “Now, Henri Temujin,” Talia said just outside the infirmary door, crouched in front of her son. “Remember what Papa Baba and I told you—you must be quiet and still when we go inside. And you must not pester Sanjana. She and the baby need quiet and rest. Okay?”

            “I be good, Mama.”

            “If you are not,” Bane warned, “I will take you out straight away, and you will not be able to see the baby until tomorrow.”

            “Papa Baba,” Henri said forcefully, as if insulted by their doubts. Then he enunciated each word succinctly: “I be good.”

            “Very well.” Bane picked him up then nodded to Talia, who opened the door. As they stepped into the shadowy room, he murmured into his son’s ear, “Remember, speak quietly, little cub.”

            Henri made an annoyed sound.

            “Hey,” Barsad called softly from a chair between the bed and the incubator. He held a tiny bundle in his arms. Pride and happiness had erased the thick veil of anxiety he had worn when Bane had last seen him. “Perfect timing. He just now woke up from a nap.”

            Sanjana looked surprisingly radiant. “Come see our son.”

            “Baby, Papa Baba,” Henri whispered, pointing.

            “Indeed, Jin. Uncle John’s little boy. His name is James.”

            “James,” Henri said in awe. “He my brother?”

            “Well…in a way.”

            The three crept over to peek at the little face revealed amidst the swaddling.

            “He’s beautiful, Sanjana,” Talia said with a warm smile, bringing back to Bane the full memory of his own son’s birth and Talia’s surprising happiness afterwards when she held Henri.

            “What that?” Henri pointed to the oxygen tubing going into the baby’s nose.

            “That’s to help James breathe,” Bane said. “He was born a little earlier than expected, so for now he needs help breathing.”

            “Like Papa Baba used to?” Henri put his hands over Bane’s mouth and nose to mimic the old mask.

            “Something like that,” Bane chuckled.

            “James needs help staying warm, too,” Barsad said to Henri. “That’s why we can’t hold him long. He needs to be in the incubator.” He nodded to the equipment.

            “Would you like to hold him, Talia?” Sanjana asked.

            Talia grinned. “I don’t think I can pry him from his father.”

            Barsad blushed. “Sure, you can. Here, take my seat and I’ll hand him to you.”

            “Put down, Papa Baba.” Henri squirmed.

            “Wait for your mother to sit.”

            Once Talia settled and took the infant, Bane set Henri down but held onto one hand in case the boy attempted to maul the baby in his enthusiasm.

            “Remember, my cub, whisper.”

            It pleased Bane to see how thrilled Talia looked holding James. It gave him hope that perhaps she would one day soon agree to give him another child. He longed for a little girl, even more now that Sanjana had given birth to a boy.

            Henri stood on tiptoe to better see James, his other hand on his mother’s knee for balance. “Mama, where’s his hair?”

            The adults softly laughed.

            “It’ll grow,” Talia said. “But he has a little—see?” She tenderly brushed James’s dark tuft with one finger.

            Henri jigged a little. “I hold him, Mama.”

            “Not yet, sweetie. We have to wait a little bit until you can hold him. He’s very fragile right now. He’s wiggly, and you might drop him.”

            “No, Mama. I hold.”

            Bane scooped Henri up to break his focus in case the boy was contemplating having a fit. “You heard your mother, Jin.”

            “But—”

            “No buts. Remember what I said before we came in here.”

            Barsad chuckled. “Don’t worry, squirt. You’ll have years of little Jimmy. You’ll be sick of him in no time.”

            “Nuh-uh,” Henri said.

            “Just wait. You’ll see. I get sick of Bane, and he gets sick of me, right?”

            Henri giggled.

            Talia asked of Sanjana’s health, and the two women quietly talked as the men did the same. They kept it short, however, before Bane suggested they leave.

            “Is it okay if Abrams and Yemi visit?” Talia asked. “They won’t stay long.”

            Barsad looked hopefully at Sanjana, who nodded and said, “Of course.”

            Henri whimpered. “Wanna hold baby.”

            “I tell you what, kid,” Barsad said as he carefully reclaimed his son from Talia. “You can give him a kiss on the cheek. How’s that?”

            Henri’s face lit up. “Okay, Unca John. I kiss.”

            “Gently,” Talia said.

            Barsad brought the baby close. James’s glistening eyes seemed to study Henri. The baby made tiny grunts.

            “Bye bye, baby,” Henri said, then leaned away from his father to kiss James’s fleshy cheek. The baby squirmed as if in delight and made a funny face. Henri’s ensuing laugh, however, startled James.

            As the infant started to fuss, Bane hastily said, “We must go now, little cub.”

            “Don’t cry, baby,” Henri said.

            “It’s okay, little man,” Barsad said to Henri, gently bouncing James. “The world just seems a bit loud to him. He’s been in his mama’s belly a long time.”

            “Bye bye, Sanji,” Henri said with a wave.

            “Bye, sweetheart. Come back and see us later.”

            “I will!”


	18. Chapter 18

            Dr. Haqqani arrived in the late afternoon, shortly before the first of the League’s regional commanders. Talia accompanied Bane to meet each of the League’s men at the front door. Those who had arrived in time shared the evening meal with Bane, Talia, and Maysam. Abrams—while invited to table—declined on grounds of being an outsider. Barsad had his meal with Sanjana.

            In an effort to change Abrams’s mind, Maysam said, “I am not a member of the League, either, Aaron.”

            “No, but this is your home; you are the hostess.”

            Talia had no more luck than her grandmother at convincing Abrams, even when she pointed out that, technically, she was also not a League member.

            “Nice try, Talia,” Abrams had said with his crooked, harelip smile.

            After the rather lavish meal—Maysam did like to impress guests, especially because she hosted so few since Bane and Talia had moved in three years ago—all shared coffee and casual conversation. The topic of Nyssa was purposefully tabled until all were gathered for the council tomorrow morning.

            Talia begged off earlier than Bane, tired from her own travels the previous night. Henri allowed her to leave without him, for he was too busy wrestling with Guy Giroux, the League’s European commander.

            Before retiring to her suite, Talia visited Barsad and his family and spoke with Dr. Haqqani. Everything the physician said about the baby’s health was positive, good news that would help Talia sleep better tonight, regardless of her newfound half-sister guarded at the far end of the hall.

            Her head had been aching since first seeing Nyssa, so she took some aspirin, then stripped off her clothes, pinned up her hair, and headed down the suite’s hallway to the spa.

            The spa’s décor was of a Middle Eastern flavor. A rectangular space with white marble floor and low ceiling, ivory pillars framing archways of muted golden brown, the in-ground spa also rectangular. The pool was large enough for six adults, surrounded by a raised, dark-brown marble edging that was broad enough to be used as a place to sit. Pillar candles of various sizes had been placed around the pool on this edge, their flames flickering against the reflective surfaces of both water and marble, lit by Hisham, who knew her desire for the spa whenever she returned from travel, even just the shopping jaunts since Henri’s birth. Neatly rolled white towels waited, stacked in plush pyramids near the gleaming handrails that led into the pool. The same ivory columns that surrounded the room also supported a separate, lower ceiling over the pool where recessed lighting through decorative lattice covers offered muted illumination. Speakers masked by the décor could fill the bath with music. Talia chose muted piano concertos then turned the jets on low to ease her tired muscles, the blue water beckoning.

            With a sigh, she slipped into the water and swam the couple strokes it took to reach the far side of the pool. There she settled on the underwater ledge that provided a place to sit, leaving just her head and the tops of her shoulders above the surface. The warm water embraced her, eased her tension. The scent of the lavender and vanilla candles pleased her. She closed her eyes, surrendered to the music.

            Though Talia used her considerable mental skills to continue to fight off thoughts of Nyssa while alone here in the spa, relaxed and vulnerable, emotions slipped past her wall nonetheless.

            When Bane had given her the news, her defenses had instantly shut down her personal response, and she had focused instead upon what Nyssa’s presence meant to the League and to Henri’s safety. It had not been an intentional action, more of a self-preserving instinct, a result of the shock the news had given her. She had always had a man’s ability to compartmentalize things, not surprising considering her formative years had been spent solely with men after her mother’s death.

            A half-sister. Why had her father never spoken of Nyssa? Had he truly known of Diya Panjabi’s pregnancy? If Nyssa was to be believed on that point, had he been embarrassed by her? If so, why? Simply because she came from a poor background? Talia could not believe that to be the reason. No, it must have to do with Melisande. He may have concealed Nyssa out of fear that Talia might believe he had betrayed her mother all those years ago. Talia refused to feel shame about her father’s treatment of Nyssa. Surely, he had good reason to do what he did. She would not judge her father when he was unable to defend himself, and Nyssa had no right to do it either.

            “There you are, my love.”

            Bane’s deep voice filled the spa. His ability to move soundlessly always amazed her. She opened her eyes to see him in the doorway to the hall, smiling mildly at her.

            “May I join you? Or would you prefer to be alone?”

            “Of course not. Come in, darling.”

            As Bane crossed the room, he pulled off his shirt.

            “Is Henri with Jiddah?”

            “Yes, they are going to visit Sanjana and the baby. Then Maysam will give him his bath in her suite before bringing him to us. She knows how tired you are after this long, trying day.”

            “She’s a life-safer.”

            “Indeed, she is.”

            Bane sat on a teak bench on the far side of the room to remove the rest of his clothes, revealing a burgeoning erection. As he descended the short steps into the pool, Talia admired his sculpted physique. Though somewhere around forty-eight years old now, his body was still awe-inspiring, like a mountain beaten and battered by extreme weather through millennia but undaunted by such abuse. As he walked toward her, his round belly pushing the water aside like the bows of a great ship, happiness and lust raised the corners of his lips in a smile he reserved only for her. The surgeon had done an admirable job restoring the fullness of those lips that Talia remembered from his youth when her fingers used to trace their pillowy softness.

            Her body responded to his approach, her thighs opening of their own volition. She would have little time before Maysam brought Henri to the suite, so there was not a moment to lose.

            Bane stood before her, his hands caressing her arms as he spoke in a quiet voice used only with his family. “I have missed you, little mouse.”

            “I wish you could have gone with me to France. It was so beautiful and peaceful.”

            “Perhaps I will accompany you next time.”

            Her hands drifted across his thick pectorals, fingertips teasing his nipples. She edged closer to him, her legs slowly slipping around him, drawing him to her. As she gently stroked his manhood, he growled with desire and leaned down to kiss her. She loved the feel of his mouth on her, no matter where he roamed. For so many years she had been deprived of such pleasures except for the rare occasions when he would remove his mask for their lovemaking.

            She guided his engorged tip to her eager opening, tortured them both by rubbing it slowly against her. His kisses grew stronger, his fingers entwined in her hair, freeing it from its bindings. The gentle pulse of the spa jets added to the sensuality of the moment. Rachmaninoff blurred into the background, drowned by the sounds of their kisses and moans, the bubbling of the water. His animal scent filled her, overpowered the waft of chlorine.

            Impatient as always for her, Bane enveloped her in his embrace, brushed her hand aside as he guided himself where he longed to be. She tilted her pelvis to better accommodate him, arms and legs around him, using her nails to grip his skin. With one hand braced against the edge of the pool and one arm wrapped around her to keep her from being driven backward against the edge, Bane thrust deeper, causing her to gasp.

            Slow one moment, fast the next; Talia could barely keep in rhythm with him, but she knew that was his purpose, to keep her off balance and always guessing what he would do next. It was playful and erotic all at once, teasing her to the brink then denying her, causing her to beg; he was the only one who could make her do such a thing, and she loved it.

            Beneath the churning water’s surface, she gripped his firm buttocks, urged his hips faster. No more torturing her. It was time for her to demand; it was time for him to listen. Her own hips moved quicker, slamming into him, countering his almost leisurely gyrations. He had such command of his body. She did, too, but her willpower was no match for his, and by now she did not care about such strengths. Only one thing filled her thoughts as he responded to her aggression and matched it—surrender, surrender to him, surrender to her body’s screaming need. Waves from his movements slapped against the lip of the pool behind her, spilling over. Bane’s grunting thrusts nearly lifted her up, as if he intended to drive her from the pool as well.

            Her outcries rose as he came, his breath, his guttural voice in her ear, incomprehensible, his chest heaving against her. Only after a long moment did his hold upon her loosen as he relaxed. Their hearts thudded wildly against each other’s chest. Talia’s strength ebbed, and she settled back on the ledge, Bane’s arm still supporting her. Such a wave of release, contentment, and fatigue rode over her that she closed her eyes and felt oddly close to sleep.

            Once his breathing returned to normal, Bane lightly kissed her cheek, murmured, “I love you, habibati,” then settled on the ledge beside her, his arm still around her.

            “I love you, too.” She shifted her weight, pleased to have him to lean on.

            They remained silent as they recovered, the pulsating water wonderful against her muscles. Talia felt completely relaxed, and again sleepiness weighed her eyelids, but Bane’s voice broke through the veil.

            “I am concerned about you, my love.”

            She drew in a long breath to help her stay awake. “Why?”

            “Today you have received momentous news, very personal news, but you have hardly spoken of it.”

            “It was a busy day with the baby coming and our brothers arriving.”

            “Yes, indeed. But I believe your reticence was not merely because of those things. I want to know your thoughts about your half-sister.”

            “Well, the League—”

            “No, my love.” Bane hushed her with a slow shake of his head. “I am talking about you, not the League. You learned today that you have a sister. Such a revelation would shake anyone, even someone with your strength of character. When you spoke to Nyssa, I sensed anger and perhaps even some hurt. You feel your father betrayed you with his silence.”

            “No.” She repudiated the assumption too quickly, but she was so schooled in deception that denial came instinctively.

            “Speak only the truth to me, habibati. Anything else is a waste of our time with me; you know that.”

            Talia settled deeper into the water, hesitated, staring across the pool. “To be honest, I’ve purposefully not thought about all of it until I came here to the spa. I didn’t want to be distracted around Sanjana or our brothers.”

            “And what were you thinking about when I came into the spa?”

            She sighed. “About Papa. I just don’t understand why he didn’t tell me. Maybe Nyssa is lying, and he really hadn’t known about Diya Panjabi’s pregnancy.”

            “Why would she bother to lie about that?”

            “To make Papa look bad. She wants me to hate him like she does.”

            “Well, you can understand her bitterness toward her father, can you not? You once felt something similar, remember? After he excommunicated me. You held onto that anger for many years, just as Nyssa has.”

            “That was different. He treated you horribly, after all you did for me and Mama, and for him and the League.”

            “And Nyssa believes he treated her and her mother horribly as well.”

            “It’s not the same. Her mother was some loose woman who probably got pregnant on purpose to try to entrap Papa. She wanted his money, no doubt. She wanted him to take her out of this place. Your motives, on the other hand, were pure and honorable.”

            “I was exiled because I disobeyed orders from a superior and killed that superior,” Bane reminded her.

            “With good reason. Damien Chase betrayed Temujin and sacrificed him for nothing except to hurt you. He deserved to die. You did what was right; you did what I would have done had I been in your shoes. And we also know my father was jealous of you, not just because of your abilities but because of your relationship with Mama and me. That was what really led to his decision. No, habibi, the situations are not the same. Nyssa is probably a gold-digger like her mother. Little else.”

            Bane considered her, the silence between them heavy with his displeasure. She turned away and pretended to be looking at something at the far end of the shadowy spa.

            “You do not really believe that about her, Talia.”

            To change the conversation’s direction, she turned back to him and said, “It almost sounds like you sympathize with her.”

            “Sympathy is a misnomer. What I feel is more of an understanding of her position, at least emotionally. Don’t forget—your father wounded me as well. Not only did he exile me from our brothers and the life I loved, but he deprived me of the thing that meant the most to me—you, of course. All those lost years when we were apart… My purpose in life, even above my duty to the League, was protecting you. Being separated was like losing a limb—I felt that emptiness, that loss, every day, every hour.”

            “I know, habibi. I felt it, too.”

            “You missed me and my love for you, but I was not and never have been your purpose in life. But you have been mine since the moment you were born. Your father took that from me. I loved him, Talia, just as you did, when I was with the League. I wanted him to be the father I never had. But it was not to be, no matter how hard I worked to rise through the ranks and impress him. I was nothing to him but a grim reminder of a horrible tragedy and a perceived threat to his leadership. I believe Nyssa feels the same way about him. She loves her mother and feels that he betrayed her as well, that he dishonored her and condemned her to a life of loneliness and poverty. Perhaps he did. And I can’t blame her for being angry with your father because of it. Can you?”

            Talia could not bring herself to verbally agree with him, though she could understand what he was trying to make her admit.

            “But don’t confuse my understanding with sympathy for her plan. The blood that runs through her veins may entitle her to the title of the Demon’s Head, but your training and the blood you have shed for the League entitles you to retain the title. I will try to convince our brothers of this.”

            “But you’re forgetting something, Bane—I’m no longer the Demon’s Head; you are.”

            “Yes, I command the League, but I have no true right to your title. Our brothers know this. I serve in this capacity only because of your wishes to step down. I would gladly surrender it to you, if you wish to reclaim it.”

            “If that’s what I must do to convince our brothers not to allow this succession, then I will consider it. But you know how I feel about it all, especially because of Henri. My place is with him in his formative years. He will not be deprived of his parents as I was.”

            “Agreed.” Bane kissed her disheveled hair, buried his nose in it. “You have sidetracked me, my love, skillful as usual. I first asked about your emotional response to having a sister, but you focused on the League instead. No more. Tell me what you are feeling. Can you look past your hurt and anger? Is there something more, some hope for a relationship with his woman? You share a father, after all. You are both strong-willed and formidable. You very well could have more similarities than differences, if you would just look for them.”

            “Even if I want to look for them, who says she does?”

            “You are both on the defensive right now, cautious and looking for the other’s motivations and angles. You have a child, so you cannot afford the recklessness that she can, thus your concerns are understandable. And I am not asking you to be any other way at this time. We don’t know this woman, only the intel we have gathered. But you and I both know there is far more to a person than a dossier.”

            “You can’t expect me to embrace her as my sister, Bane.”

            “You have no reason to at this point. All I am saying is that it might serve you well to not completely dismiss this woman. Perhaps showing some sisterly compassion might get her to lower her guard. And while you are doing it, you might discover something genuine between the two of you. Remember, I have half-siblings, too. When I was younger, I sometimes wondered about them. Granted, those times have faded, and I never truly knew my father as you knew yours, so there was no true bridge to connect me with my half-siblings, even if they had known about me. But you have that bridge, you and Nyssa. I am cautioning you not to burn it at the outset of this relationship. Stay cautious but openminded.”

            “I must say, habibi, you have surprised me through this. Your calm is legendary, but I would have thought something so directly impacting me—us—would have you more aroused.”

            Bane chuckled. “Oh, my dear, I am aroused. Let me show you.” He pulled her to him, and she straddled him, grinning, kneeling on the ledge. “And I suggest we make further use of my arousal before that wild cub of ours comes looking for his bedtime story.”

#

            Abrams stared at the television in his living room but paid little attention to the John Wayne movie. His thoughts were on those who shared this floor of the palace with him, including Nyssa. He had tried to convince Bane to keep the meddling bitch on the lower level with the servants and kitchen staff, but Bane insisted she be given a regular room, not only because of her heritage but to provide sufficient space for Diya Panjabi to permanently join her daughter. If Abrams had his way, both women would have been eliminated by now. Their very existence endangered not only Bane, Barsad, and their families but also Maysam; she would, after all, be considered a criminal for harboring them.

            Well, he thought, at least tonight they could sleep with even more confidence in their safety since the League’s regional commanders were all here. Maysam had been a whirlwind of motion and orders once she had learned of their coming. Between periodically checking on Sanjana and baby James, she inspected each guest room before and after servants had prepared them, and she met with the chef to oversee the menu for her guests after grilling Talia about each man’s tastes and preferences, things Talia tried to make Maysam understand she couldn’t necessarily know. Then, as each commander arrived, Maysam had greeted him and acted the part of perfect hostess, moving with the energy of a young woman. Abrams grinned at the memory. The trip to Jaipur, Barsad’s baby, and now the convening of the council had broken the recently-monotonous pattern of her daily life.

            Jaipur. Abrams sighed and leaned back on the couch, fingers laced behind his head. The brief vacation had given him a fresh outlook on life, at least for the moment. Maysam’s kiss had shocked the hell out of him, especially because it proved what everyone had been telling him—she was attracted to him. Why the fuck she was, he couldn’t figure but decided not to give a shit and just enjoy it, at least while they were away from the palace those two nights. Now, back here, the kiss wasn’t something he was going to bring up to Maysam, and if she had wanted to discuss it, she’d had no time since their return.

            He relived their kiss many times. It had freed him of his doubts and relieved some of the intangible tension between them. Sharing it while he lay in bed had made it even more provocative. He hadn’t slept a wink afterward, and the next night had been equally torturous for him, being in the same room with her, knowing with all certainty that she wanted him as he wanted her, but knowing that was not the place to act upon his impulses, even if he had been confident enough in her response.

            Abrams got up and stretched, walked into the kitchen to get a fresh beer. Popping the tab, he shuffled back into the living room, downed a cold gulp before setting it on the coffee table. But, restless, he did not reclaim his place on the couch. Instead, he went to his veranda. By now, the night would be pleasant, and he was tired of air conditioning.

            The glass door slid soundlessly open, and the night greeted him with heady scents from the gardens as well as the distant, faint smells of late-night cooking from the village. He could just barely hear the fall of water from one of the garden fountains. But then he caught the evocative scent of something much closer, something familiar.

            Abrams’s small suite was directly connected to Maysam’s suite, so their verandas were not far apart. He was shocked to realize that Maysam, who normally went to bed long before he did, was sitting on her unlit veranda, her form just barely detected thanks to her living room light shining outward. Abrams silently retreated, though he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like they had never seen each other on their verandas at the same time. Yet that was before…before the kiss. That was then; this was now, and things had changed. Now if he was out there in the dark of night at the same time as she, maybe she would feel he was stalking her.

            He cursed. Damn it, he wasn’t some schoolboy. And, besides, it was his job to keep tabs on her. For her to be outside at this hour, alone…something was troubling her. And God knows, she had plenty to trouble her with that fucking Nyssa around.

            Impulsively, he went to the door that adjoined their rooms, reached for the doorknob, hesitated. He would normally knock, but she wouldn’t hear him from the veranda. Yet to enter without her permission when it wasn’t emergent…

            “Oh, for God’s sake, Abrams,” he muttered to himself. “Grow a pair.”

            With that, he opened the door into Maysam’s salon. Not allowing himself to falter, he continued through another door into the living room. This was lit by only a small, dim lamp. He turned to the sliding glass door to the right, paused. Maysam sat just outside the door, still staring off into the compound interior. So he wouldn’t startle her, he opened the door slowly, just enough for her to hear him say her name.

            She turned in surprise. “Aaron? Is something wrong?”

            He opened the slider a bit more. “No, nothing’s wrong. I…I saw you out here; you’re usually in bed by now, so I thought I’d check…you know, to make sure you’re okay.”

            Maysam smiled appreciatively. “It’s just been a long, full day.”

            “You could say that.”

            “Why don’t you sit with me, Aaron? Obviously, you aren’t sleepy either. You’ve always been a bit of a night owl, haven’t you?”

            “Yeah, I guess.” The truth was, of course, he didn’t sleep well, so he was never eager for his bed. He stepped onto the veranda

            “Should I warm us up some milk and honey, or some chamomile tea?”

            “No, I’m fine. I can get you some, though.”

            “No. Please, sit.”

            The temperature had dropped only into the mid-eighties, but the darkness and a breeze from the Thar Desert made it seem cool compared to the day’s hundred-degree furnace heat. Below them in the courtyard, an armed guard walked his beat. Abrams hoped the man hadn’t noticed him coming out to the veranda.

            “Something’s bothering you,” Abrams probed after sitting in a chair on the opposite side of a small table. “I’m assuming it’s either Nyssa or the baby.”

            “More Nyssa than the baby. I’m worried about the baby, but I think he will be all right. Dr. Haqqani seems optimistic, and he is a capable physician. I trust his prognosis. Actually, my concerns are more about Talia’s reaction to Nyssa than Nyssa herself.”

            “How has she reacted? She hasn’t said anything around me.”

            “That’s just it, Aaron. Such a shocking thing for anyone to learn—having a sibling your father kept from you—but she’s said nothing to me about how she feels about it.”

            “Well, I think she’s probably protecting you, and maybe herself, too, especially since you were entertaining guests. You know Talia—she doesn’t exactly wear her heart on her sleeve. She’ll probably open up to you after the council makes its decision tomorrow.”

            “I hope so. I just wish I could have talked to her about it all today, maybe for my own sake as well as hers. Hopefully, Haris is giving her the opportunity to explore her feelings on it.”

            Abrams hid his small smile in the darkness. He figured Bane was allowing Talia to explore something, all right, but it had nothing to do with Nyssa. On sleepless nights when he sometimes roamed the palace, Abrams had heard them “exploring” each other when he would pass by their door.

            “The truth of the matter,” Maysam said, “is that I am angrier toward Talia’s father than I am toward Nyssa, though I am certainly not pleased with her intrusion into our lives. It’s his fault, all of this. And I do mean all.” Anger had raised her voice slightly. “From my daughter’s condemnation, my marriage deteriorating because of it, her death, Talia’s years of torment in that horrible prison, Haris’s injuries and his excommunication from the League. Everything. Now this illegitimate daughter. If he were here today, I would be tempted to push him off this veranda.”

            Abrams believed she would. To him, Maysam was a wonderful blend of soft outward femininity and inward kick-ass Wonder Woman.

            “Well,” Abrams said, “no sense in being angry with a dead man, though I see your point. Try to focus on the present. What do you think the council will decide?”

            “I can see it going either way. The brethren revere Haris; they will want to retain him, but is that even a viable choice, since he is not a part of Henri Ducard’s legacy?”

            “So, it’s either Talia or Nyssa, then?”

            “Probably.”

            “Would Talia really go back to that? She seems to finally have gotten comfortable in her role as mother. Well, maybe except for some of the trouble Henri’s been giving her, but the kid seems more respectful since she got back. I think her going away and him spending time with just his dad made an impression on him, as much as something can on a two-year-old.”

            “It could come down to pride, I am afraid. Talia might reclaim her title just to deny Nyssa. Nyssa has no League training, of course.”

            “But she could be trained, couldn’t she?”

            “If the council sees fit.”

            “Sounds like a lot needs to be figured out, and that won’t be done by you or me.”

            “You’re right, Aaron.” She forced a smile. “As you often are.”

            “Often?” He grinned. “Always.”

            They both laughed.

            After a companionable silence, Maysam said, “Thank you for coming over. I needed your voice of reason. Are you sure I can’t get you something?”

            His thoughts immediately went to things other than food or drink, causing him to shift in his seat and clear his throat. “No, I…I’m fine. Thanks.”

            “You know,” she said slowly, “we haven’t had a chance to talk about Jaipur.”

            “Jaipur?” he stalled.

            “Yes, Jaipur. When I threw myself at you.”

            “You didn’t throw yourself.”

            “You were in a vulnerable position, and I took advantage of it. It was shameful.”

            Abrams laughed. “Hardly. You didn’t hear me complaining, did you?”

            “You’re too much of a gentleman to complain about an old woman being foolish and improper.”

            “One, I’m no gentleman; and two, you’re not old.”

            “My aching knees and gray hairs would prove otherwise. And you _are_ a gentleman, Aaron. Don’t try to convince me otherwise.”

            “So, you kissed me. What’s the big deal?”

            Maysam seemed taken aback. “It meant nothing to you?”

            “No, no, I’m not saying that. I enjoyed it. Hell, yes. What I’m saying is, you shouldn’t beat yourself up over it.”

            “Very well. I won’t. But what shall we do about it?”

            “Do about it?”

            “Yes. Will we go forward or forget what I did?”

            Abrams squirmed a bit. “There’s no need to forget about it. I know _I_ won’t. But…I’m your employee, Maysam. Your family and your in-laws would be pissed if you got into a personal relationship with someone like me.”

            “Someone like you?”

            “Yeah, an infidel, an employee, someone below your station. All of the above.”

            “I am no young girl who will be dictated to by men.”

            “But they could toss you out of here if you tick them off.”

            “Nashir would do no such thing. We have a good relationship.”

            “In every way except for the thorny subject of harboring international criminals who could compromise the El Fadil consortium. I wouldn’t want to be the one responsible for causing trouble in your family.”

            “Talia, Haris, and Henri are my family, Aaron. And Barsad and you. Yes, I love my brother and his children, and I am fond enough of Nashir, but they are not my priority. You know whom I would choose if I had to make such a choice.”

            He was touched by her inclusion, to mention him in the same breath as the others.

            “Aaron.” She leaned across the table. “I am not talking about marriage here. I am just saying I don’t feel there is anything wrong with the two of us…enjoying each other’s company. We are both alone and have been alone a long time. Don’t you feel lonely when you see John and Sanjana or Haris and Talia together? Don’t you wish you had someone, too?”

            “I dunno. Guess I haven’t thought about it as much as you have. But, sure, I admit now and then when I’m around them, I…think of things.”

            Maysam raised a coy eyebrow. “Things?”

            “Things.”

            “Are you really going to let my brother and my in-laws dictate our happiness?”

            “I don’t want to cause trouble, and I don’t mean just with Ayman and your in-laws. If my behavior jeopardizes you, I’ll have to answer to someone even less pleasant, you know.”

            “Haris?”

            “Of course, Haris.”

            Maysam softly laughed. “You mean, you are afraid of that little boy you lived next to in prison?”

            “Yeah, that little boy who grew into a grizzly bear, that’s the one. One swat and off goes my head.”

            “Oh, Aaron, Haris would understand. He and Talia have been encouraging our relationship for a while now, and so has Barsad. He’s the one who suggested I go to Jaipur with Haris and Henri because he knew you would feel obligated to accompany me.”

            “That’s my job.”

            “Yes, but it’s not like I had no protection—that grizzly bear you just mentioned was with me, along with his men.”

            Abrams huffed and squirmed again, trying to think of a rebuttal.

            “I want a closer relationship with you, Aaron, but perhaps I have misread your desires.”

            “No, you haven’t.”

            “Then why the excuses?” She paused. “Perhaps there’s something you aren’t telling me, maybe something that had to do with that nightmare you had in Jaipur.”

            Her unexpected observation shook him, and he was glad for the shadows that hid his reaction.

            “I don’t have a great track record with women, Maysam. Isn’t that obvious?”

            “Am I like the other women you claim you failed with?”

            “Hell, no.”

            “Then why would you assume we will fail?”

            Because, he wanted to say, I have failed at most everything in life.

            “Why are you so hard on yourself, Aaron? We’ve all had failures in our lives. Look at my marriage and what my husband did to our daughter. But even out of that tragedy there’s been good. If Melisande had not lived in that horrible pit, Talia and I never would have met Haris…or you.”

            “That hardly makes losing your daughter worth it.”

            “Perhaps Melisande would say otherwise if she knew how happy her daughter and her mother are right now because of Haris and you.”

            Exasperated by her persistence, Abrams said, “Why are you interested in me? I don’t have anything to offer you. You’re more intelligent, beautiful, loving—”

            “And you are intelligent, handsome, and caring, though you’d like everyone to think otherwise. You try to hide who you really are, but I know. Whatever that nightmare was about, whatever the pit did to you, whatever relationships did not bear fruit…those things don’t define you. You are stronger than all that. Give yourself some credit. And let yourself enjoy life. Neither one of us is young, so why waste time with trivial things like worrying about my brother and Nashir’s family? I want to see you happy, and I want you to let me make you happy. I think I can.”

            “You have. This job might not be the most…exciting job I’ve ever had but being around you is exciting. You’re everything I’m not, and I like that.”

            “Then quit worrying about all the reasons why we should not be together and focus on all the reasons why we should be.”

            “Well, I…I’ll try.”

            “Good. It’s a start, then. Now, I think I shall go to bed. You have made me feel better.”

            Abrams wished they could stay out here all night, but he followed her inside to the living room. The door to her bedroom and master bath stood open to the right, and he could see her bed, the covers pulled back.

            Maysam turned to him, stepped close. Now in the light, he could fully appreciate what she wore—a silver silk nightgown with a plunging neckline beneath a black and silver wrap. She smelled of honeysuckle, clean and alluring, increasing his arousal.

            “Will you at least kiss me good night, Aaron?” She touched his bare arm, moving her hand up his bicep to just beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt, her head tilted back, her loose hair flowing over her slim shoulders.

            Abrams allowed a small grin. “Is that an order?”

            “Oh, yes.” Her dark eyes twinkled.

            “Well, I can’t disobey a direct order, can I?”

            “Most certainly not.”

            A little awkward and slow, feeling like a great lump of ineptness, Abrams put his arms around her, and she leaned into him, closed her eyes. Their lips met, a bit chaste at first, then her lips parted, and he couldn’t stop his eager exploration. She relaxed and become pliable beneath his hands, like a liquid that flowed around him, drowned him as their kiss intensified. He pressed her tighter against him, that closeness firing his passion even more, and he knew no matter what he had blathered on the veranda a moment ago, there was no way he was going to return to his room tonight.


	19. Chapter 19

            Maysam hurried down the hallway, her steps silent upon the carpeting. She was not moving as quickly as she wanted to. After last night, she was a bit stiff and sore—it had been a long, long time since she had had sex, and she had been younger and…well…more flexible, among other things. She chuckled to herself.

            Passing Talia and Bane’s suite, she heard the deep rumble of Bane’s voice. They were expecting her to entertain Henri this morning while the council met, but first she wanted to check on baby James and family.

            When she knocked upon the infirmary door, Sanjana called for her to enter. Maysam expected to see Barsad with Sanjana, but she found only mother and child. The young woman was sitting in a chair next to the incubator. The blinds had been partially opened, letting in a bit of natural light.

            “Good morning,” Maysam said softly as she crossed the room.

            “Good morning. You just missed John. He went to get dressed for the council.”

            Both parents had slept here and would continue to do so until baby James was out of the incubator. The hospital bed was big enough for both since it had originally been acquired for Bane when he was recovering from his surgeries following the Gotham siege.

            Maysam smiled down at the infant. “Good morning to you, too, _saghirti_.”

            James was awake, but sleep was not far off. He wore the contented expression of a baby who had a bellyful of warm milk.

            Seeing Barsad’s child born yesterday had had a strange effect on Maysam. She had been both thrilled and melancholy about it, though she knew the latter emotion was pure foolishness. The truth of the matter, though, was that she still occasionally thought of Barsad as belonging to her, even after all these years. Perhaps if Barsad and Sanjana had been properly married by now, that crazy feeling would have died. Sometimes, she even wondered if his real reason for not marrying Sanjana was not the League but his former relationship with her. Feminine ego, she always berated herself after thinking such folly. But seeing Barsad’s baby born had shredded those baseless fantasies, and it had saddened her as she saw the light of new life in James’s eyes and looked in the mirror and saw the twilight of her own life approaching. Perhaps that was another reason why she wanted Barsad to live here at the palace—once he left with his family, she feared he would forget her, caught up in his family’s lives, as he should be.

            But then, last night had happened. Now, looking at James, she felt none of the sadness she had experienced yesterday. She felt only happiness for herself and Barsad, and she could forgive Sanjana for loving him.

            “Did you get much sleep?” Maysam asked.

            “A little.”

            “And John?”

            “I think he got less than me. I’ve never seen him worry so much about anything. Well, maybe about Bane sometimes.”

            They both chuckled.

            “A sleepless night for all of us, then,” Maysam said, then realized how the comment sounded. She caught Sanjana’s curious glance and blushed.

            Maysam never revealed anything personal to Sanjana—the servant/master dynamic still lingered, after all. But Barsad’s conversation about Sanjana’s sensitivity to their past and current relationship returned and gave Maysam an idea. Perhaps if Sanjana knew about her burgeoning romance with Abrams, the girl would not feel so threatened. No new mother, especially one with her first baby living in an incubator, should have unneeded anxiety to disturb her, no matter who she was. Also, Maysam’s ego urged her to share a bit to show the beautiful young thing that she, too, even at her old age, could still be attractive to a man.

            “I will tell you something,” Maysam said in a clandestine tone with a tiny smile. “But you must not tell the others.”

            Sanjana looked too stunned by the confidential words to reply and instead merely nodded.

            Maysam glanced at the closed door to the hallway and to the one that led to an adjoining room. Then she leaned closer to Sanjana and said, “Aaron and I spent the night together.” She felt like a ridiculous schoolgirl for saying this, yet it was also exciting to share.

            Sanjana blinked and stammered, “That…that’s wonderful.”

            Maysam almost giggled. “I feel a bit silly.”

            “Why?”

            “Why?” She laughed. “I’m an old woman, Sanjana, older than Aaron.”

            “You are not old. And, besides, what does age have to do with it anyway? Love is for everyone.”

            Spoken like a true novice. But Maysam did not mind her naivete; she appreciated that the girl had not laughed at her.

            “But why do you want to keep it a secret?” Sanjana asked, sounding disappointed. No doubt the girl wanted to tell Barsad so her foolish belief in his interest in her employer could permanently die.

            “Well, Aaron isn’t ready for that. He has it in his head that it could infuriate my relatives.”

            Sanjana frowned. She would certainly understand this reason, considering her own parents and her scandalous relationship.

            “Well, if you’d like,” Sanjana said, “I’ll tell Abrams he’s being silly.”

            “Thank you, but please say nothing to him about it. I’m confident he’ll come around eventually.” Maysam looked down at James before saying, “I must be going. Haris and Talia are waiting for me to watch Henri so they can attend the council.”

            “I hope all goes well. I know John is even more upset about this Nyssa woman than I am. I told him to keep his head.”

            “Good advice.”

            “Thank you for stopping by.” Sanjana smiled brightly. “I’m so happy for you and Aaron.”

#

            Yemi, standing guard, opened the double doors for Bane and Talia to enter the cavernous reception room where the council was to be held. The regional commanders and Barsad were already there, sitting or standing in pairs at the far end of the room where the furniture had been arranged into a quadrangle to accommodate the meeting. Everyone turned and fell silent. As they crossed the room, Bane’s and Talia’s footsteps were soundless upon the immense Persian rug that covered most of the floor.

            This room was used only to entertain visitors, its décor formal and impressive. The exterior wall was dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows looking out upon the compound’s interior courtyards, morning sunlight tempered by sheers. Three sparkling chandeliers hung from the high, mirrored ceiling, providing additional light, casting faint shadows from Bane and Talia. On either end of the room were fireplaces with gilded mirrors above them. Like many rooms in the palace, this one’s main colors were gold, orange, and rich reds, along with blues in the carpet.

            “Good morning, gentlemen,” Bane’s voice managed to fill the large room.

            All returned his greeting.

            The aroma of coffee originated from a long, low table amidst the arranged furniture. A silver service there displayed not only coffee and tea but breakfast pastries as well as other small food items to tempt them, a mixture from the various cultures represented by the council. Bane smiled at Maysam’s thoughtful attention to detail.

            “Please, sit,” Bane said, sweeping an arm toward the chairs and sofa.

            Bane sat in a straight-backed, formal chair at one end of the quadrangle, Talia seated in a matching chair to his right, Barsad on his left. His second-in-command looked peevish and sleep-deprived, pouring himself a steaming black cup of coffee. Behind him, a gold curtain draped around the frame of another large mirror, which reflected the imposing windows opposite, giving the impression that the mirror was a window itself.

            “As long as we are gathered here,” Bane began, “we might as well attend to any outstanding business prior to discussing the main topic. But let us speak in French, as an added layer of protection while in this house discussing League business. Finn, as senior regional commander, I open the floor to you.”

            Finn Donnell’s small stature and benign looks were deceiving—he was a formidable man, intelligent, sharp-witted, and deadly. Several of his relatives had been prominent figures in the ranks of the Irish Republican Army during its heyday, and their fighting spirit and cunning flowed through Finn’s veins. His forehead was broad, made broader by his receding hairline. His eyes were even blacker than his hair, like that of a hunting shark, made darker by his perpetually pale complexion.

            Finn, the League’s commander in North America, had worked closely with Talia during her years in Gotham prior to the siege. Naturally, the two had become close. He now discussed various operations taking place in the United States as well as Mexico. Once he was finished, Daichi Sao, the League’s man in Asia, followed, then Guy Giroux, who detailed the League’s status in Europe; the suave Frenchman adored Talia, the two often carrying on in French for long periods whenever together, making Bane’s fingers twitch. On around the group of men, each giving detail and insight into their operations, problem-solving and receiving Bane’s counsel. Throughout the discussions, Barsad remained silent, brooding over his coffee.

            “Very well, brothers,” Bane said. “If there is no further business, then let us proceed to the reason for calling this esteemed council.”

            All settled back in their chairs, some frowning, some—like Finn—stoic.

            “As you know, we discovered that Talia has a half-sister who is demanding her birthright to the Demon’s Head. DNA has proven her lineage. You have all received a copy of the dossier on Nyssa, so you know her history as a highly-effective mercenary. We have brought her and her mother into the palace and are holding them until we make our decision.” Bane leaned back and exchanged a glance with Talia. She looked calm and cool as always, but he knew the turmoil within her better than she knew it herself. “We have a couple of options, brothers,” he continued. “Uphold Nyssa’s claim and subject her to training and initiation or ignore her claim and eliminate her and her mother, so they cannot reveal to the world that we survived Gotham; her survival would, of course, endanger my family as well as Barsad and his family.” Bane allowed a small smile directed at his lieutenant. “As you know, Deadshot is now a father.”

            Murmurs of approval rippled through those gathered. This seemed to pull Barsad slightly out of his funk, and he thanked them for their well-wishes.

            Sao, the second highest senior among the regional commanders, was the first to comment on Bane’s proposal. “Since it has been proven that Nyssa is heir to the Demon and elder to our beloved sister, why would we even entertain the thought of killing her?”

            “Because of the reason Bane gave,” Barsad said, his tone harsh. “She could bring ruin on all of us. Her betrayal could decimate the leadership ranks. The League is resilient, but Bane and Talia have been our greatest leaders—do we really want to take the chance of losing them? And how do we know this hotheaded woman can even be trained? While we waste our time and resources on her, she could expose us, especially once she realizes she can’t meet our standards.”

            “But,” Sao countered, “her lineage dictates that we give her the opportunity to prove herself.”

            “And if she doesn’t?” Finn asked.

            “Then,” Bane said, “this council would reconvene to make a new determination.”

            “Her motives alone should prohibit her from being trained,” Barsad argued. “She only cares about the title as a way to spit in her father’s eye and piss off Talia. She’s jealous and holds a grudge against them.”

            “And what of Talia?” Alexej Kulikov, the Eastern European commander, looked to Talia. “The truth of the matter is that she is no longer the Demon’s Head, so this Nyssa would have claim over Bane, as repugnant as that may be, even more so than over her sister.”

            “If the League sees fit,” Talia finally spoke, “I would reclaim my position, whether to deny Nyssa or to lead while she is being trained, so she is aware of no impropriety where blood claim is concerned. As Bane knows, however, I prefer to keep things as they are because of our son, the next heir. But I will do whatever my brothers feel is necessary and honorable.”

            “She should be eliminated,” Barsad growled.

            “Your opinion is already clear,” Bane said.

            “I can’t believe you don’t feel the same way. You have a kid, too.”

            “This decision goes beyond my own desires, brother,” Bane said darkly; it was very unlike Barsad to question him so bluntly in front of the others. “I would like to hear from everyone else. Sao, it sounds like you prefer to uphold the League’s tradition. Finn, do you agree with him?”

            With a glance at Talia, Finn said, “My gut feeling is to side with Barsad on this. Maybe if this woman had come to us years ago, but now…? How can we trust her motives? Perhaps we need more intel to make sure she has no clandestine ties to anyone.”

            “A spy?” Kulikov raised a scarred eyebrow.

            “When has our intel ever been faulty?” Giroux challenged. “We know all there is to know about the woman.”

            “Probably,” Finn conceded. “But when can we ever be a hundred percent sure of anything? She came out of nowhere, this one. It just seems very odd to me.”

            “But proof shows she’s Rā’s al Ghūl’s daughter,” Bandile Molefe, the League’s African commander, said. “How, in good conscience, could we ever deny the bloodright of one of the League’s greatest men and its greatest martyr? It would be dishonorable.”

            “And against the League’s mandates,” Sao added.

            “Those mandates won’t be worth a damn,” Barsad said, “if Nyssa betrays us.”

            “What’s different here, Sao,” Finn said, leaning forward, “is that this woman came to us out of the blue. She’s known of her parentage since Rā’s died, but she just now reaches out to us. Like I said, there’s something off. She very well could be working for someone, someone who wants to infiltrate our ranks. A paycheck might be more important to her than the League.”

            “Contacting the League, as you know,” Sao said with a wry, humorless half smile, “is not an easy thing. From what I understand, she came here seeking the truth after seeing Bane’s child with Talia’s grandmother. She had a potential point of contact at last, believing Talia lived, as proven by her child’s existence.”

            “She didn’t know Henri’s her child,” Barsad said.

            “It was a calculated assumption,” Molefe said, “after seeing the resemblance as well as observing his close relationship with Talia’s grandmother. Any of us would have made the same connection if we had been in her shoes.”

            Barsad looked incredulous. “It’s not as simple as you think it is. She’s cunning. You haven’t met this woman.”

            “They will have that opportunity shortly,” Bane said. “But I first want to hear our brothers out.”

            The debate continued for over an hour. Sao was the only one completely for allowing Nyssa to be a part of the League. The rest of the regional commanders had mixed opinions for and against the idea.

            “So, the six of us have discussed it,” Finn said, indicating the other regional commanders. “And we know Barsad’s opinion, but you and Talia haven’t really said much, Bane. What do you think? Talia, this is your sister. Do you feel anything for this woman?”

            “Any feelings one way or the other,” Talia said, “have no bearing when it comes to this decision. It is a council decision; I am not on the council.”

            “True enough,” Finn said, his gaze softening, as it did only for Talia or her son. “But you once led us, and you are the child of Rā’s al Ghūl. Council or no council, we all value your opinion as well as respect your feelings. This can’t be an easy time for you.”

            She smiled indulgently at her old friend. “Thank you, Finn. Your words are kind but foolhardy. My vote will only come into play if the eight of you are split.”

            “What about you, Bane?” Giroux asked. “You seem almost indifferent.”

            “I am anything but indifferent, brother,” Bane said. “I am being objective. Perhaps if you speak to Nyssa now yourselves, we can make our decision.”

            When the others agreed, Bane sent word for Nyssa to be brought to the room. Within minutes, she entered, accompanied by Yemi, who looked as displeased as Barsad.

            As Yemi escorted her across the room, all were silent. He walked her past the council then had her stand at the end of the gathering, facing Bane and Talia. Without blinking, Bane watched her, catching every nuance of emotion she tried to conceal. As before, she showed no fear, only caution as she took in the new faces—the reaction of a person with little to lose…except her mother. That was where the caution came into play. A lost soul, Bane thought. There was bemusement on her face as well, for she had not been forewarned about her inclusion in this meeting; Bane had not wanted to give her time to concoct some speech to try to curry favor. He wanted to see her caught unawares so he could witness how she improvised in such a high-pressure situation.

            “Is this the jury?” Nyssa asked with that now-familiar sly twist to the corner of her mouth. Her pointed stare landed on Barsad.

            “You might call it that,” Barsad said.

            Normally, Bane would have chastised his second in command for speaking out of turn, but, considering what Barsad had gone through in the past twenty-four hours, he let it slide for now. Barsad was the only person he would do this for, regardless of any reason.

            “This,” Bane said to Nyssa, “is the esteemed council of the League of Shadows. They have gathered to rule on your claim. After our initial discussion, you are being given the opportunity to speak on your own behalf prior to our final deliberation. I understand you speak fluent Russian. We will continue this meeting in that language, for security purposes.”

            Nyssa looked at each man, as if measuring them up, before resting her stare on Talia. There was a challenging glint in her eyes, but she had tempered some of the defensiveness and haughtiness. She was wise enough to discern that such things would not serve her well in present company. She is no fool, Bane thought again.

            “I still don’t understand why this is even being challenged,” Nyssa said. “You have proof that I am who I claim to be. From what I understand, the League is bound to give me what is rightfully mine.”

            “The situation is different because we don’t know your true motives or worth,” Bane said. “With Talia, her motives and worth have always been beyond reproach. And she has her father’s blessing; you do not.”

            Nyssa drew in a hard breath through her nose, seeming to rise on her toes.

            “Do not misconstrue my comment as an insult,” Bane growled. “It is merely a fact, one you have claimed to be aware of. Now, waste no more of the precious time we are giving you by arguing. You need to convince us. Speak.”

            Nyssa squared her shoulders and drew in a breath. “You say you don’t know my true motives. You think this is all about getting back at my father.”

            “And your half-sister,” Barsad grumbled.

            Bane turned his head slightly to lay his displeased stare upon his lieutenant. Barsad’s jaw clenched, and he begrudgingly dropped his gaze.

            Nyssa, for once, ignored her critic. “I’m here because the Demon’s Head is rightfully mine. Plain and simple. And I am qualified to be in your ranks. You’ll see that in time.”

            “When did you learn of your lineage?” Sao asked, though they already knew the answer.

            “When my father was killed. I saw his picture on the news and recognized him from a photo my mother has. She confirmed my suspicion, and your DNA test proved it.”

            “But,” Giroux said, “you had no interest in the League until now?”

            “I had an interest, of course. But I was married at the time, and my husband argued against me trying to contact the League; he figured it’d just get both of us killed. And, as you know, you guys aren’t exactly in the phone book or on Google. When I saw Talia’s kid in the bazaar with Maysam, I started to put two and two together. Unlike the rest of the world, I knew about the connection between Rā’s al Ghūl, Melisande, and Maysam. People could say Talia had some other mother, but my mother knew what Melisande looked like, and when she saw Talia on the news during the Gotham siege and later heard who her father was, she knew that was Melisande’s daughter. But, like I told Bane, I couldn’t just walk up to the palace doors and ask if Talia was here, not unless I wanted a bullet in the head.”

            “How long have you been divorced?” Finn asked another question that had been answered in the dossier. Like Sao, he was checking to make sure her story matched their intel.

            “Not that long.”

            “And why did your marriage end?” Kulikov asked.

            Nyssa shrugged one shoulder, and her brief glance downward told Bane that the divorce had not been without pain. “Why does any marriage end? Infidelity, finances, differences of opinions and philosophies, bad decisions. Take your pick.”

            “Who was unfaithful?” Sao asked. “You or your husband?”

            “What the hell difference does that make?” Nyssa growled.

            “Fidelity is a key virtue among our ranks,” Bane said.

            “I’ve heard League members can’t marry,” she countered.

            “In life, fidelity does not encompass only marriage,” Bane said.

            While Nyssa considered, her attention drifted to Talia then Barsad.

            “Answer the question,” Barsad demanded.

            Her lip curled in distaste. “Let’s put it this way—you might call the infidelity in my marriage a two-way street.”

            “So, your husband couldn’t trust you,” Barsad said. “How can we?”

            “I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.”

            “What do you know of the League’s purpose?” Sao changed directions.

            The switch in topic seemed to befuddle her for a moment as she pulled her attention from Barsad’s glowering face. “The League facilitates balance in the world. That’s its mission.”

            “And you think you are prepared to direct that mission, to do whatever is necessary to meet the League’s goals?” Molefe asked skeptically.

            “Yes.”

            “Even if that meant killing your own mother?” Finn asked.

            Again, Nyssa faltered as if taken aback but recovered with almost a snarl. “I don’t see how killing my mother will bring balance to the world.”

            “No,” Barsad said, “but it would prove your commitment. When someone joins our ranks, he renounces everything from his personal life.”

            “And yet,” Nyssa countered, “Talia is living with her grandmother.”

            Talia stirred in her seat, but Bane spoke before she might say something that could reveal her withdrawl from the League. “It is more accurate to say Talia’s son is living with his great-grandmother. I would think his aunt would approve of the protection Maysam, her family, and this remote region offer.”

            “The League can’t protect him?”

            “The League does protect him. You have noticed the men guarding this room and your own, surely,” Bane said with a bit of condescension.

            “Have any of you had to kill your mothers to join the League?” Nyssa asked with a bite.

            Bane gave her an indulgent smirk. “We would not ask you to do such a thing, at least not at this time. However, if we decide to accept you as an initiate, your mother will indeed be killed if you betray us. So, you must tell us again if you are indeed committed to this path?”

            “And if I’m not, you’ll just kill us both anyway.”

            Bane nodded. “Indeed.”

            Nyssa addressed Talia. “You would allow your own kin, your only relative besides Maysam, to be murdered?”

            “To protect my child and our father’s work, yes,” Talia said. “And you would do the same if you were in my place.”

            “What’ll you do with my mother while I’m being trained?”

            “We haven’t agreed to your inclusion yet,” Bane said.

            Again Nyssa directed her words at Talia. “Why do you let him do all the talking? You’re the Demon’s Head.”

            “Bane is my right hand,” Talia calmly said. “We are one and the same, part of the same body. He speaks for me when I will it. You and I have a familial connection; it could potentially cloud my judgment. Bane has no such ties to you, so he will think more objectively than I in this matter. He has my complete confidence, as he always has. I am sorry you have not had someone like this in your life. It has made you bitter, a trait that concerns me and my brothers.”

            “Spare me your pity,” Nyssa growled. “Let’s get on with this.”

            Everyone paused before Sao asked, “Why do you want to become the Demon’s Head? You claim superseding Talia has no personal taint to it, and that you don’t desire this as a way to show contempt for your father.”

            “Aye, what is it?” Finn added.

            Nyssa hesitated before answering, and Bane caught a brief flash of vulnerability in the way her gaze momentarily dropped to the coffee table. “Everyone in my line of work has heard the legends about the League of Shadows. I’ve heard them since I first picked up a gun. Then when I found out my father had been the Demon’s Head, I was intrigued even more. But, I admit, I was a bit hesitant to seek you out, especially thanks to my husband and his fears. I think he’d heard one too many fables about the League. He wanted to run from the idea, like it was a raging fire, but I wanted to go toward the fire, especially after seeing Bane on TV during the Gotham siege. The scope of that operation was mind-boggling to me, exciting. Then when I heard about Talia’s involvement—and that I had a half-sister, someone who knew the father that I never knew—I was even more curious. Everyone looks for meaning in their life, a purpose. I’ve never really had one. Gotham gave me a glimpse of what I might have. I’d been toying with the idea of trying to make contact once I was divorced, but I had no idea how…until I saw Henri.” She wet her lips, her arrogance having drifted away while she spoke. “My nephew. For better or worse, he and Talia are my family, the only family I have beyond my mother. I think the League could also be my family.”

            No one responded, some exchanging thoughtful glances, some skeptical, like Barsad who barked a small laugh.

            “Nice story,” he said. “I’m not buying it, though.”

            Bane kept his stare upon Nyssa, reading her, looking for deceit but finding none. She quickly banished her weakness, but it left behind a softening, a desire, a genuineness. That look took Bane back to his early days with the League, when there was nothing he wanted more than to belong, to impress Talia’s father with his abilities, perhaps to gain a father after his own had rejected him.

            “My father,” Nyssa continued, “obviously wanted nothing to do with me. He probably thought I would amount to nothing, coming from such a poor background. Maybe I can prove him wrong, maybe I can show him that I am just as worthy to be his daughter as Talia.”

            Silence fell over the room. Bane exchanged a glance with Talia. Normally he could read her so well, but oddly enough he was uncertain as to her thoughts.

            “Is there anything more you wish to say?” Talia asked her sister in a cool tone.

            Nyssa seemed almost surprised that Talia had spoken instead of Bane. “I don’t know what else I can say to convince you, so, yeah, that’s it.”

            “Very well,” Bane said and gestured to Yemi to remove her. “We will finish our deliberation and summon you afterwards.”

            All were silent until Nyssa was gone, then Bane addressed the council in French again, “Do we require further discussion, brothers? Or shall we put this to a vote directly?”

            “I hope none of you are buying her bullshit,” Barsad said. “She knew she wasn’t getting anywhere so she throws in her little personal sobstory about impressing her father when it’s plain she only hates him.”

            “I am not so sure,” Giroux said. “If her emotions were false, then she is a skilled actress.”

            “Well, you can bet on that,” Barsad said. “She’s a beautiful woman, isn’t she? No doubt she knows how to play men.”

            “Brother,” Sao said with a displeased frown, “are you insinuating that such base things could sway this esteemed council?”  
            “Not necessarily. I’m just saying we don’t know how skilled she is at manipulation and deception.” He looked to Talia for support. “After all, we know how talented Nyssa’s sister is at those things, don’t we?”

            Bane was quick to growl, “No one can compare in any way to Talia.”

            “Let us not quarrel amongst ourselves, brothers,” Talia said with a light touch on Bane’s arm. “Let’s get this over with, shall we? We have all the information we need. Let us vote.”

            Barsad made an unhappy sound deep in his throat but said nothing more.

            There was no secret ballet; all decisions were voiced for everyone to hear. The verdict of the six regional commanders split down the middle, and Barsad was a resounding no, leaving Bane to tip the scale fully against Nyssa or to force a deadlock.

            As a father, Bane wanted to eliminate what could very well be a threat to his son and lover, if Nyssa proved false. But as commander of the League—he never thought of himself as the Demon’s Head—he also wanted to uphold the organization’s traditions. Then there was the undeniable empathy he felt for Nyssa because of her father’s treatment of them both, as well as his soldier’s appreciation of another soldier’s skills. Yet, even more than all these things, the determining factor on his vote was to force Talia to break the council’s stalemate. Ultimately, this decision should be hers, from both a personal and professional standpoint. No one would be more impacted than she.

            “I vote for Nyssa’s inclusion,” Bane said, staring at Talia and ignoring Barsad’s immediate muttered curse. “So, our sister must cast the deciding vote.”

            Talia showed no reaction but held his gaze for a moment before turning back to the council. “Perhaps in this case I should recuse myself because of the personal nature of this matter.”

            “No, Talia,” Bane said. “We all know that you are quite capable of taking your emotions out of any decision. And, as far as I am concerned, there is no more appropriate person to decide this matter. Do you not agree, brothers?”

            All concurred, even Barsad, who surely expected Talia to side with his view.

            Talia dropped her gaze to her hands in her lap, her fingers moving restlessly. Though Bane normally refrained from showing Talia any physical affection while in the company of their brothers, he now reached to take one of her hands.

            “What is your verdict, my dear?”

            “Talia,” Barsad began before Bane cut him off with a deadly glare.

            “You will not speak another word, Barsad, until she has voiced her opinion.”

            “Peace, brothers,” Talia said then again considered the patient men before her. “As Bane said, I have done my best to take my personal feelings out of this matter, especially where it concerns my son. I have my doubts about Nyssa, like Barsad and you three others. However, I believe I should uphold the League’s traditions and at least allow Nyssa to be trained. If she fails, then that will be the end of her claim. I don’t know why my father never allowed her the right to take up this mantle—perhaps his reasons would sway us against her now—but he is gone, and we must make our decisions on the information we have. We must trust to fate. All precautions will be taken, of course, while she trains. The training will be rigorous as usual. Let that decide her path. If she’s true to the cause, she will succeed; if not, her failure is predestined.”

            “And when she fails,” Barsad said with a cautious glance at Bane, “what’ll we do with her?”

            “As we said,” Talia reminded, “the council will convene to decide her fate.”

            Bane squeezed her hand then let go. In satisfaction, he nodded at her. Her appreciative smile trembled once before she hid her trepidation.

            When Nyssa stood before them again, Bane saw the skepticism on her face, a face used to such an emotion in life.

            “By the narrowest of margins,” Bane said, “the council has decided to allow you to be trained.”

            Nyssa’s mouth dropped open for a moment. “I…I… Well…shit. Thank you.” She made an awkward bow to the stoic council. “I’m honored.”

            “As you should be,” Bane said. “You will leave tonight. My men will transport you to our training facility. Your mother will remain here. I assure you she will be treated well. She will, however, earn her keep, so to speak. Maysam is in need of a servant.”

            Nyssa scowled. “My mother is no one’s servant.”

            “She will be,” Bane growled. “That is part of the deal. As I said, she will be treated fairly. I am your commander now, need I remind you? You will obey my orders without question. Understood? Or are you choosing to fail so quickly?”

            “What if she refuses?” Nyssa asked.

            “Then you can tell her the other option,” Bane said.

            Nyssa’s hands balled into fists. “She’s the mother of Rā’s al Ghūl’s heir.”

            “She is the mother of a League initiate,” Bane said, “nothing more at this point.”

            Nyssa simmered. Barsad grinned.

            “I suggest you return to your room,” Bane continued, “and enjoy your last hours together. It will be many months, perhaps a year or more, before you see your mother again.” He nodded to Yemi nearby.

            Nyssa briefly looked at her half-sister as she passed by on the way to the door. Talia ignored her.

            Once Nyssa was gone, Bane said, “Now, brothers, let us discussion the issue of Talia’s reinstatement or my continuance as your commander.”


	20. Chapter 20

 

            Nyssa walked in a daze back to her room with her armed escort. She could not believe what had just happened. Bane, Gotham’s Reckoning, and her long-lost half-sister were going to allow her a chance to fulfill her destiny, the one her father had tried to keep from her. She trembled with excitement and concern, knowing she could trust neither of these murderers. They could be setting her up, allowing her to think she was accepted and thus lowering her guard. But if they truly didn’t want to give her this opportunity, why didn’t they simply kill her? Or was this all show for the other members of the council, to allow the illusion of following the League’s dictates? Whatever the truth was, she was in the soup now, and unfortunately so was her mother.

            Her worried parent waited just inside the door to their room, wringing her hands, close to tears. Nyssa could tell she had been pacing. Her mother threw her arms around her the moment she entered.

            “You’re safe!”

            “Of course, Maji. I told you not to worry.”

            “What happened? What did they say?”

            “Here, let’s sit down. You look frazzled, and you’re not completely well yet, remember.”

            She guided her distracted mother to the couch, holding her hand.

            “Are they going to let us go, Nyssa?”

            Nyssa steeled herself for her mother’s unhappiness. “I’m sorry, Maji; no. But Bane has given me his word that you won’t be harmed.”

            “Me? What about you?”

            “I’m going to be trained by the League. I have to leave tonight to start.”

            “Leave? Where are you going?”

            “To their training facility, but I don’t know where that is, of course. You’ll be staying here, in the palace.”

            Indignation darkened her mother’s face. “I most certainly will not. I’m going back to my home. Either that or I’m going with you.”

            Nyssa took her parent’s hands, pinned a sympathetic but firm look on her. “I’m sorry I got you caught up in this. But what’s happened has happened; we can’t go back. I’ll keep in contact while I’m training.”

            “How long will that be?”

            “I’m not sure. Maybe a year.”

            “A year? Nyssa, no. This is nonsense. You must tell that muscle-bound murderer that you’ve changed your mind.”

            Nyssa almost laughed. “I can’t change my mind, Maji, even if I wanted to. And I certainly wouldn’t be able to change Bane’s mind. The council has voted on this. I’m going to be trained and initiated, then I’ll take my rightful place as the Demon’s Head.”

            “They are lying to you. It’s a trick, betee.”

            “No. If it was a trick, they’d just kill me now.”

            “Well, if you insist on going through with this fantasy, then take me back to our home. Right now. I won’t be a part of this.”

            “I’m sorry, Maji. They won’t let you leave here.”

            “What? So, I am a prisoner?”

            “Don’t call it that. You’ll be detained so you can’t tell anyone about them.”

            “One and the same—I am a prisoner. At least tell me I will see you regularly.”

            “I don’t think they’ll let me see anyone while I’m training. I’ll keep asking, though. Perhaps I can at least write to you or call. But you’ll be safe here.”

            “As safe as any caged bird,” her mother grumbled, pulling her hands into her lap and fidgeting. “And what am I supposed to do while my daughter is joining the ranks of the damned? Sit inside these walls and play cards with Maysam?”

            “Actually,” Nyssa struggled to look at her, “you’ll be employed by Maysam.”

            Her mother reared back. “Employed? I don’t need employment. I do just fine making and selling my scarves and—”

            “It’s not a choice—it’s a condition. I’m sorry, but the alternative is much worse, as you can imagine.”

            “So now I am to lose my daughter and be a slave.”

            “Maji, please, it won’t be like that. You’ll be a servant to Maysam, just while I’m away.”

            “I will not!” Her mother stalked to the window that looked out over the village, her sari whipping in her wake. She crossed her arms and kept her back to Nyssa. “This is a nightmare, betee. I need to talk to that hulking beast. I will convince him that I won’t say—”

            “Don’t even think about talking to Bane about anything. You have to be compliant. I don’t want anything to happen to you. It would be my fault. I need to concentrate on my training, so we can both have a better life.”

            “Being a captive is not a better life, Nyssa.”

            Nyssa approached her and put an arm around her sloped shoulders, tears on her mother’s cheeks. Her heart broke.

            “I can only say I’m sorry so many times, Maji. But you have to trust me; you have to believe me when I say our lives will be better.”

            Her mother frowned, the anger drifting away, her arms uncrossing. “What if I never see you again?”

            “You will. I promise.”

            Her mother sighed and turned from Nyssa to stare back out the window, shaking her head. “Your father…I should have never looked at that man.”

#

            When the council was dismissed, Bane and Talia went to Maysam’s suite to give her the news. They found her in the living room with Henri, both sitting on the floor at a low table, with coloring books spread before them. Bane smiled at the sight of his child instructing his great-grandmother that she must color inside the lines. Abrams was coming out of the kitchen with a drink for Henri.

            “Mama,” Henri called. “Come see my turtle!”

            Talia sat next to him, putting an arm around him. “That’s a wonderful turtle, baby. The colors are perfect. And Jiddah’s is nice, too.” She winked at her grandmother.

            “The council has reached its decision?” Maysam asked, her carefree expression of a moment ago flying away.

            Abrams set Henri’s sippy cup on the table. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he said to Bane.

            “No, Aaron,” Maysam said. “Please, stay. You need to hear this, too.”

            Abrams offered his hand to help her up. Bane sensed something pass between the two when their hands met, followed by a private look that made Abrams blush and clear his throat. After Maysam settled in her accustomed recliner where she often rocked Henri to sleep, Abrams sat on a loveseat across from her. Bane and Talia settled on a sofa next to Maysam. Henri’s focus remained on his coloring.

            “What was decided, hafida?” Maysam asked, doing her best to appear calm.

            “Nyssa will be allowed the chance to be trained and prove herself.”

            Maysam stared and started to speak, but Talia continued.

            “She will leave with our brothers tonight and be taken to ’Eth Alth’eban. She will remain there until her training is complete. That is, if she can master the necessary skills.”

            “And if she can’t?” Maysam asked with a glance at Abrams’s scowling face.

            “Then,” Talia continued, “the council will decide her fate.”

            Maysam frowned. “I must admit I’m a little shocked. Is this what you want, Talia?”

            “It was my vote that decided it, Jiddah. I can’t say it’s really what I want, but I felt bound by the League’s practices. And, for better or worse, she is my sister. A part of me feels some sort of pull because of that blood tie. I don’t know why Papa rejected her, but he once rejected Bane, too, and that was a mistake. Maybe it was a mistake for him to reject her, too.”

            “Time will tell,” Bane said, putting his hand over Talia’s on her thigh. “Your granddaughter did the right thing, Maysam.”

            “What about Nyssa’s mother?” Abrams asked.

            “She will serve Maysam in Sanjana’s stead,” Bane said.

            “A servant?” Maysam said. “Certainly she will resent that.”

            “Her feelings on the matter are immaterial,” Bane rumbled. “I assured her daughter that she would be treated fairly in her interim role. She must be detained until we know if her daughter will become one of us, so she might as well be useful in the interim.”

            “I doubt Diya has any experience.”

            “Neither did Sanjana,” Talia reminded her. “If you are uncomfortable with this, Jiddah, Diya may attend to me, and I will relinquish Hisham.”

            Bane again noted something private in the glance Maysam exchanged with Abrams. Abrams seemed determined not to look at him. Ah, yes, Bane decided, something has happened between those two. He smiled inwardly. Abrams was a fool to think he could hide this.

            “Well,” Maysam said, “let me try it. It might be even more difficult on Diya to serve her step-daughter than to serve me. She was always a good woman when I dealt with her in the bazaar—and she’s always been sweet to Henri—so I do wish to lessen the difficulty this transition will be to her.”

            Hearing his name, Henri paused in his coloring. “Who that, Jiddah?”

            “Ms. Panjabi from the bazaar, sweetheart,” Maysam said. “The lady who makes the dolls. She’s going to live here with us for a while.”

            Henri grinned, his blue eyes crinkling. “She make me more dolls!”

            “Only if you are a good boy,” Bane warned.

            “I be good.” He tossed a grin over his shoulder at his father, reminiscent of his mother’s flashes of mischievousness, then resumed coloring.

            “And you will not tear the dolls apart in front of her,” Talia said. “She will show you how to make them instead.”

            “Oh, Mama,” Henri whined, sitting back on his haunches to look at her.

            “You heard your mother,” Bane said. “I don’t want to hear another word about it from you, young man.”

            Chagrin, Henri said, “But Papa Baba…” and buried his face against Bane’s round belly. When Bane sat him on his lap, the child leaned into the crook of his arm and let out a small huff. Bane raised an eyebrow at him, and Henri put his hands over his eyes and gave a small giggle.

            “There is something else, Jiddah,” Talia said. “I’m afraid you won’t like this bit of news either, but I’m asking that you keep an open mind.”

            “What is it, hafida? Just tell me.”

            Talia hesitated. “When Bane spoke with Nashir after Nyssa was apprehended, Nashir told him that if Nyssa was allowed to live, we could no longer stay here.”

            Maysam’s back straightened. “He should never have said such a thing! I’ve spoken with him before about this. As long I live, you will always be welcome here. You are his blood, hafida. And Haris is my son.”

            Whenever Maysam made such a declaration about him, Bane’s heart swelled with pride and love. She always said it with passion and genuineness, as if he were a small boy who needed his mother to protect him; such an image amused him greatly, especially the older Maysam got.

            He held up his hand to calm her. “Do not be angry with Nashir; he is within his rights.”

            “No, he is not, Haris. I have rights here in this palace, my husband’s home. Nashir cannot chase away my family just because he is a coward—”

            She started to stand, but Talia reached for her arm to keep her in the chair.

            “Jiddah, please. Listen to me first. Then, if you still feel the need to talk to Nashir, do so. But don’t go to him angry like this. You know it will only insult him and make him more determined.”

            “Nashir hasn’t _seen_ determined,” Maysam insisted, her teeth showing. “I can’t believe he would even bring this up again to you, Haris. How dare he? I forbade it.”

            “Jiddah, please,” Talia soothed. “Nashir has been very gracious letting us stay here this long. And he did it only for you, so it wouldn’t be right for you to attack him, especially since Bane agreed that we would leave if Nyssa was allowed to live. You can understand Nashir’s concerns. He has to think of his family.”

            “You _are_ his family, Talia. Obviously, I need to remind him of that.”

            “Maysam,” Abrams’s gravelly voice surprised them all as did his oddly soft expression. He looked at Maysam as if they were alone. “Why don’t you let Talia say what she has to say? Charging downstairs to confront Nashir before you even know what Talia has on her mind doesn’t make any sense.”

            Henri piped up, “Don’t be mad, Jiddah.”

            Maysam sputtered a moment in broken protest, fingers playing with the silken fabric of her dress. “Well…I suppose Aaron is right,” she said at last. “I am sorry, hafida. But you just can’t go.”

            “We need to honor Nashir’s request,” Talia continued. “We’ve already stayed here too long. No place is a sanctuary forever. Leaving may be the safest thing for Henri and us. You need to look at it that way.”

            “Where we goin’, Mama? See elephants again?”

            “No, darling, not to Jaipur. We haven’t decided where yet, Jiddah, but wherever we go, we want you to come with us. Bane will continue on in his current role so I can focus on Henri; Nyssa will just have to remain ignorant of that arrangement and think I’m the Demon’s Head for now.”

            “Come with you?” Maysam echoed. Again, she looked to Abrams, whose confused frown made his underbite more pronounced.

            “Abrams could come too, of course,” Talia said. “You will have our men protecting you, but we would be honored if he continued to serve you.”

            Some of the dark concern on Abrams’s face dissipated. “Of course, I would, as long as Maysam wants me.”

            “That goes without saying, Aaron,” Maysam said, calm again, an appreciative smile in her eyes. “But…I just don’t know, Talia. I’ve lived here since I was a young bride.”

            “You do not have to decide right now,” Bane said gently. “Think about it, even overnight if necessary, but we cannot delay longer than that. I will be discussing various options with my brothers today. I will have a location decided upon before they leave tonight. There are many things to consider when it comes to safety for our new location.”

            “One of the places we’re considering,” Talia said, “is Chateau Blanc. You said before you would love to see it. It’s beautiful and peaceful and green, Jiddah. You would come to love it there, I’m sure.”

            “But France?” Abrams said. “Wouldn’t it be safer someplace more remote?”

            “France is but one consideration,” Bane said. “Talia favors it.”

            “What about John?” Maysam asked with worry in her tone. “He will be coming with us, won’t he? Or will Sanjana insist on remaining in her homeland? Her family is here, of course.”

            “Yes,” Bane said. “He and his family will join with us. Exactly when is contingent upon James’s health. The doctor will insist that he not be moved until he is stronger.”

            Talia reached for her grandmother’s hand. “Will you promise to consider it, Jiddah? I will understand if you decide to stay here, though.”

            “I don’t see how I can, not now, not after more than two years of having my great-grandson with me every day. And Sanjana will need help with her child, as well, especially when John is away.” But her furrowed brow showed fear and uncertainty.

            “There are many factors,” Bane said. “Consider your decision carefully.” He smiled down at his oddly patient son. “Now, I must excuse myself. There is someone to whom I promised a morning trip to the swimming pool.”

#

            After the council had been dismissed, Barsad knew he should immediately go to Sanjana to let her know the verdict, but he did not want her to see him this angry, nor did he want that negative energy to be felt by his son. So, instead, he headed outside to the gardens to walk until the strengthening sun could sweat the poison from his pores, which happened quickly this time of year, even in the morning.

            When he finally went to the infirmary, he found Sanjana with James in her arms, sitting beside the incubator, Dr. Haqqani just leaving.

            “How’s he looking to you, Doc?” he asked.

            “So far so good. We need to be vigilant in these next few days for jaundice, but there are no signs of it yet.”

            “Good, good. Thanks, Doc.”

            “I will be back after lunch to check on them.”

            Barsad shook his hand and held the door for him.

            “Has the council been meeting all this time?” Sanjana asked as he came to her. “I thought I heard the others in the hallway a while ago.”

            “I’m sorry I didn’t come right away, darlin’, but I was a bit pissed off. I needed to cool down.”

            “So, they’ve vote for Nyssa’s inclusion, then?”

            “Yeah. I did everything I could to sway the others, but it came down to Talia’s vote.”

            Frowning with worry, Sanjana held James a bit closer, kissed his forehead. “I’m surprised she’s letting Nyssa stay, aren’t you?”

            “Because of Henri, yeah, I’m surprised. I don’t know if it was simply because of the League that she voted the way she did or if she feels some pull with that damn woman because of their father. Even from the grave, he seems to have an influence on her still.”

            Sanjana murmured, “I’m scared, John.”

            “Oh, honey,” Barsad kissed her head then sat beside her on the edge of the bed, “I don’t want you worrying. You know I won’t let anything happen to you and our boy.”

            “How can Bane and Talia trust Nyssa?”

            “They don’t. She’ll be watched closely. She’s leaving tonight for ’Eth Alth’eban. She’ll stay there until her training is over. The isolation alone might might break her.”

            “Will they kill her if she fails?”

            “That’s to be determined when and if it happens. You know which way I’ll vote again.” He stroked Sanjana’s ebony mane and basked in the sight of his tiny son, who slept contentedly. “But don’t worry, sweetheart. Even if Nyssa could tell anyone where we are, it won’t matter because we won’t be here much longer.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Bane said Nashir told him we’d have to scram if Nyssa was allowed to live. Like you and me, Nashir doesn’t believe Nyssa won’t betray us, and he doesn’t want to be implicated, of course, in what the League does.”

            “But…where will we go? And when? James can’t be moved—”

            “We’re not going anywhere until the doc says James is out of the woods. Well, the others might leave soon, but I’m not going anywhere without you and our boy. Bane said he would talk to Nashir about it. And if Bane can’t convince him, then I’ll find a way to do it.”

            “But what about Maysam? Henri will be devastated to be without her.”

            “Bane and Talia are planning to convince her to come with us. I can’t see Maysam staying behind, especially because of Henri. We’ll see how things play out.”

            “Where will we go?”

            “There are a couple of options. Chateau Blanc is one of them, but I have a feeling Bane will want something more remote. We’re going to hammer it all out today.”

            Sanjana stared toward the door. “My family… My mother…”

            “I’m sorry, sweetheart. But you’ll be able to say good-bye; I’ll make sure of it.”

            She looked sadly at James. “I want my mother to meet her grandson, even if we aren’t married. My father wouldn’t have to know about it. Could we arrange something if we do have to leave?”

            “Anything you want, darlin’. I’m sorry the timing is so bad for this.”

            “It’s not your fault.”

            “I should just kill Nyssa and be done with it. Then you wouldn’t have to move.”

            “You wouldn’t dare defy Bane, would you?”

            “I’d be doing him a favor if, instead, we’re killing her anyway when she can’t cut it.”

            “What would they do to you if you killed her, do you think?”

            “Hard to say. Maybe excommunication.”

            “Oh, John. Do you really think he would do that? He loves you like a brother.”

            “He does, yeah, but he is my commander, and it would be gross insubordination on my part, so he’d be obligated to censure me. And then there’s Talia’s wrath as well. She doesn’t look kindly on insubordination either.”

            “Then don’t do it, John.” She touched his knee. “I wouldn’t want anything to come between you and Bane. I would feel it my fault. You would never kill Nyssa if it were not for me and James.”

            “I’d do it not just for you and James, but for Talia and Bane, too. Then things could remain status quo. Everything’s been pretty smooth these past couple of years.”

            “But it would not be status quo if killing Nyssa led to your excommunication or worse. You know I care about Bane and Talia, too, and little Henri; I would miss them terribly, and so would you. No. As much as I’d feel safer with Nyssa dead, I have decided I don’t want you to jeopardize your position with the League or your relationship with Bane and Talia.”

            Barsad grinned. “Just the other day you were demanding her head.”

            “I know, but I was pregnant and not thinking it through then. I was being selfish.” She smiled up at him. “I know you will keep us safe.”

            He kissed her. “Always, darlin’.”

#

            In the evening, after darkness had fallen, Bane and Talia said farewell to the men of the council. Finn Donnell was the last to leave. They accompanied him to the front door, Hisham in tow with Finn’s duffel bag.

            “It was wonderful to see you,” Talia said, taking the Irishman’s hands momentarily as they stood in the foyer. “Thank you again for getting here on such short notice.”

            Hisham breezed past to take the bag to the waiting SUV.

            “Anything for you.” Finn kissed her hand, then gave Bane a devilish grin.

            “Best be on your way, brother,” Bane grumbled with a slight, indulgent smile.

            Finn chuckled. “Aye, I should.”

            Talia briefly embraced him, then he nodded to Bane and headed outside into the sultry night.

            “Sometimes,” Bane teased her, “I think you do such things on purpose, my dear.”

            “What?”

            “You know.”

            She gave him an impish smile then threaded her hand through the crook of his arm and urged him back to the stairs, the house quiet around them. “I have to admit, I do sometimes find it amusing.”

            “You are cruel, little mouse.”

            Talia chuckled. “It’s just a part of being a woman who has a very desirable man. I like seeing that you still want to possess me.”

            “Still? Always. And when we get to our room, I will prove it.”

            They climbed the stairs and headed for the elevator, the inuendo drifting away.

            “I’m glad you’ve agreed to Chateau Blanc,” Talia said as the doors closed after them, starting their brief ascent.

            “You know I have my concerns, but since Maysam has agreed to join us, I felt it was the most appropriate setting for her. The locale will give her the opportunity to explore a whole new world. Perhaps she then will not have time to be homesick.”

            “I think Abrams particularly likes the location. He knows Jiddah will be farther out of reach of her in-laws’s enemies in France. Here he’s always expecting someone to storm the gates.” She softly laughed as she stepped out of the elevator.

            “I think Abrams’s reasons for approving the location has more to do with something else.”

            “What?”

            “Oh, habibati, you disappoint me.”

            “What?”

            “Are you trying to tell me you did not pick up on the signals this morning when we spoke with your grandmother?”

            “Signals?”

            “Maybe you were distracted by thoughts of Finn Donnell,” he said with a sidelong glance as they reached the door of their suite.

            “So jealous,” she taunted.

            He returned her grin and opened the door, following her inside, his eyes on her shapely bottom. “I am referring to the tacit signals between your grandmother and Abrams.” He had lowered his voice once inside, for he did not want to disturb Henri asleep in his room down the hallway.

            “They have been making eyes at one another since they returned from Jaipur,” she said, moving to the bed to remove her white, Romanesque sandals.

            “This was different. They have most assuredly slept together.”

            Talia’s head snapped up. “You think so?”

            “No, my dear,” he kissed her forehead, “I know so.” He sat beside her and removed his own loafers. “Abrams was as sheepish as a schoolboy with his first sweetheart. They think they are keeping a secret from us.”

            “Why would they do that? We’ve all been encouraging them.”

            “It is surely Abrams, rather than Maysam. He will be worried about Nashir and his family’s judgment. Going to France will help erase that concern, and he knows it. Perhaps then they will reveal their little secret to us.”

            “I’m going to ask Jiddah. She will tell me.”

            “You will do no such thing, my love. Respect her silence. Give her the pleasure of revealing it to you in her own good time.”

            Talia put on a false pout. “I suppose I can wait. But, if it’s true, I’m so excited for them. They both need this, especially Abrams. I have always felt so sorry for him. He’s come so far since living here, and I think Jiddah will be able to pull him completely from his shell once they embrace their relationship. Don’t you?”

            “Yes.” He had started to unbutton her blouse while she spoke. “Now, let us speak no more of other couples.”

            She lay a hand against his warm cheek. “If you insist.”

            “Let us speak of something I have been thinking about since the birth of Barsad’s baby.” His lips drifted to kiss her neck.

            In delight, she shrugged her shoulder against his cheek, squirmed beneath his ministrations. “What?”

            “A baby of our own, a little girl, just as lovely as her mother.”

            “Bane—”

            “She could be birthed in France and grow up to run the vineyard.”

            “Not the League?”

            “Jin will do that.” His fingers had untucked her blouse from her skirt and worked their way up her back to unhook her bra.

            “What if he doesn’t want to? Would we insist?”

            “He will want to.”

            “Always so certain, my love.”

            “Yes,” he crooned. “And I am certain that I must have you this very minute, to plant my seed and watch you blossom as my daughter grows within you.”

            “Do I get a choice in this matter?”

            “Of course. But even if you resist, you know I will wear you down in time, especially because I think you want a sibling for Henri. I saw how you looked at little James and Sanjana. I saw envy, little mouse. Don’t deny it.”

            “Well,” she sighed under the brazen wandering of his hands, “maybe I felt a little envious.”

            “And,” he nibbled at her flesh, “since I will remain as the League’s commander for at least another year, you will be free to remain a mother only.” With her shirt and bra removed, his mouth lowered to her breasts, kissing, and one hand kneading gently.

            “You see me as only a mother?”

            “I meant your primary role, habibati. Of course, you will always be a part of the League, no matter what. But in the eyes of your lover, one duty is now more important than the other. It is a role I love to see you embrace. And I promise I will find ways to spend more time with the children. And if Nyssa succeeds in her quest, I will no longer have to devote my life to the Demon’s Head.”

            Her fingers trailed lightly across his head, along his cheek to his ear. “You have done wonders with Henri in just this short time, habibi. I’m grateful, and I hope I can live up to your example as a parent.”

            “You have already succeeded me in those talents, my dear. Never doubt that.” He kissed her lips, lingering close as he continued, “It was only your doubt that caused our boy to become rebellious. There is no reason for such doubt. You are a wonderful mother.” Bane kissed her again, longer, deeper, melting her down against the mattress.

            Parted, she grinned at him. “I am not a wonderful mother, but you have given me hope that I can be.” Talia shrugged one shoulder playfully. “Maybe I could handle two. And a girl would be a joy, especially for Jiddah and you. Henri, however, might not be so enthusiastic.”

            Bane chuckled. “He will have James to roughhouse with. And he will protect his sister, just as I once protected you, my dove. I can already see that quality in him.” He grinned and straddled her as he unzipped his pants. “Now, let us waste no more time. I am impatient to meet my daughter.”

 

**END**


End file.
